


Like Diamonds in the Sky

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, This is an Underworld fic so character death is a given, side pairing: Iwaoi, side pairing: YuiHana, side pairing: matsuhana, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: 'Save him.'It's a whisper on the breeze, one that Daichi hears when he kicks off the dust and disapproval of his hometown to move to the City. Five months on, when he's persuaded by his flatmate to attend the social event of the season and is entranced by the gloriously alive silver-haired dancer, Sugawara Koushi,  the mystery voice returns, at last making sense.He swears dramatically he'll always save him, but when Suga vanishes, how far will Daichi go to keep that vow? Will he venture into the very jaws of Hell?





	1. as we moonshine and molly

**Author's Note:**

> This story is multi-chaptered and has been written for hqmagifest. It is complete, and I'll post a chapter a day. Thank you to the mods for running the challenge.  
> There is Character Death - in fact a lot of the characters are dead, but living in the afterlife, so I haven't tagged it as such. Please read at your own discretion.

The rickety-rack of the train on a track always had a soporific effect on the him. As he stretched out his legs, grateful that the train was half-full and there was space, Sawamura Daichi refused to allow his head to drop to his shoulder and made his eyes as wide as possible to stave off sleep. Not long now and he’d be at the station. A short taxi ride and he’d arrive at Micchan’s apartment. As long as she’d remembered to leave him a key with her apartment supervisor, then he’d be inside within the hour, feet up with a cup of tea and waiting for her to arrive home.

_And then I can sleep,_ he thought and stifled a yawn.

He stared out of the window, seeing the flashes of green and pink as the train sped past the budding blossom trees. This herald of spring was not his favourite time of year, but it was close. ‘A time for opportunity’, ‘change of pace’, ‘the start of something new’ – Yui had promised, haranguing him with clichés until he’d agreed to leave their home town. And maybe it was true, because even the air rushing through the windows smelled of fresh chance and the beginnings of life.

_‘Save him.’_

“What?”  He jumped in his seat, turning his head to see who was near, who was close enough to have whispered such an entreaty, but there was no one there. With a shrug, Daichi pulled out his newspaper, determined to stay awake.

_‘Save him’_

He frowned, then standing up, checked over his headrest, but the only person there was a teenage girl plugged into her headphones who looked startled at the sight of him. Bowing his head in apology, Daichi nestled back in his seat.

The train began to slow, juddering to a halt.

“We regret to announce that there will be a short delay arriving at our destination.”

An hour later, when they still hadn’t moved, he heard a buzz from his phone – Yui checking to see if he’d arrived.

**< <Nope. Train stuck outside the city.>>**

**_< <I swapped my shift, so I’ll pick you up. Let me know when you get in.>>_ **

**< <Sure thing. Thx.>>**

**_< <NP, roomie xxx>>_ **

 The train started moving after that, and the sleep he’d been thinking of having was forgotten as the cacophony of cheers from the other passengers, and then the steward wandering down the carriage serving more tea, ensured he was disturbed.

A breeze whistled through the open window.

 ‘ _Save him -‘_ he thought he heard it whisper _,_ but the teenage girl behind him got to her feet and slammed it shut.

 

Michimiya Yui was late picking him up from the station. She ran towards him, handbag slipping off her shoulder and crying sorries nineteen to the dozen as she greeted him.  Daichi held out his arms, not feeling the least bit annoyed, so pleased was he to see her breathless smiling face and very love of life parading before him.

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I had my paper, listened to music and got myself a coffee while I waited.”

“I would have been on time,” she tried to explain. “But there’s been some kind of accident, and traffic’s backed up all over the city.”

He said nothing more, accepting her apologies and explanations in the same way he’d accepted them in the past with a touch of amusement and exasperation.

“You’re here now,” he said, cutting in when she began her stream of apologies for the third time.

She grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling. “And so are you, Dai-chan. Get ready for the city, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

***

He’d been promised adventures, but five months in, living off savings and a part time job, the only excitement in Daichi’s life was when someone asked for chilli sauce on their burger.

 “You need to sell yourself,” Yui had despaired, then handed him an invitation. “Come with me. This joint will be stuffed with the City’s finest. Mingle with them. No, _no_ , don’t pull that face! You have to get out and meet people. No one who’s anyone is going to discover you working in a burger bar.”

So that was why he was at this place tonight, to mix and make contacts. To his surprise, though, the fleeting chance he’d smelt on the air on the train ride way back in March, seemed abundant as soon as he’d stepped into the grounds of the house. 

Legend said that the ‘Party of the End’ was the true herald to winter. Taking place during the dying days of summer, it was true that the host always had the perspicacity and foresight to pick the last hot evening of the year, and although there were clouds on the dusk horizon, the heat of the day had left the air around the party-goers pregnant with warmth.

A fleet of waiters and waitresses dressed in togas to fit the theme of _Bacchanalia_ , meandered amongst the guests carrying trays piled high with delicacies from around the world, and glasses that appeared to have been hewn from clear ice.

Feeling only slightly less stupid in his pseudo Greek purple tunic (‘I thought _Romans_ wore purple. Isn’t it something to do with their status?’ ‘Romans, Greeks, what’s the difference?  Purple suits you, Dai-chan.’)  than he had when Yui had sprung the costume on him that morning, Daichi prodded a statue of what he assumed was Cupid, and was surprised to find it was the real deal, and not something made of polystyrene. The stone was cold under his touch, and unrelenting, too, so he placed his half full glass on its plinth, then leant against one of Cupid’s wings to watch the revelry around him. (He remained standing, despite the Greek sandals hurting his feet with their laces criss crossing up his calves, because the tunic skirt was a touch too short and would ride up further than mid-thigh if he dared to sit.)

This party was very definitely _not his thing_. He’d agreed to go partly because it was an apparent honour, but mainly because he lived in fear of his flatmate’s punches. Everyone who was anyone attended, he’d been told, but as Daichi still counted himself a newcomer to the city, and was as such a nobody, the throng around him could see no advantage in pressing his flesh. He could have approached them, he supposed, because he’d learnt that the degrees of separation between strangers were really not so wide once a conversation had begun, yet he stayed apart, deciding the periphery was where he preferred to be tonight.

At least for now.

(There was something gnawing at him. Another reason he’d attended had been an instinct urging him on, but the nudge had been minimal and there was no memory of it now, except a small refrain and a flicker.)

 Yui was supposed to have returned. She’d said she’d be gone only a short while, and he should stay where he was, but as usual she’d wandered off and was no doubt becoming the life and soul of the party in a group she’d met mere minutes before.  Knowing that she’d return breathless with her fulsome apologies stopped any irritation. For now, Daichi was content to watch, to sip the coldest champagne and let the bubbles prickle on his tongue.

And then he heard music.

Emanating from one of the rooms in the vast mansion before him, he could feel the vibe and the earthy rhythm pounding his way. It was that lilt, that riff, that melody which set him drifting, and forgetting his glass, he pushed away from Cupid to search out the source of the beat.

Heading into the mansion, he threaded his way through the crowd until he found himself in the largest room. It was clear of tables, but along one wall, a stage had been set up for a band, eclectic in its mix of musicians. In front of them, a group gathered, moving together in time to the beat. Not interested in dancing, Daichi stayed at the back, propped against the wall and stared up at the painted ceiling, trying to work out the scenes depicted with vibrant colours and gold leaf.

As the music washed over him, his attention was caught by a flash of light, and he stopped examining the flat pictures above him to focus on the life in the room.

A man was dancing. It was hardly unusual, except that he had somehow managed to clear the floor. At first Daichi assumed it was the entertainment for the night, and yet the dancer had the feel of an improviser, pausing as he picked up the lilting rhythm. Dressed similarly to Daichi, but in palest gold, he shone as he twirled, lighting up the room.  Within minutes, after an imperious flick of his head and a wave of his hands, he commanded the stage.  On his lips was a smile, not warm, but knowing. He began to gyrate, swirling his hips and twisting his fingers across his face as if masking himself from their sight. Recognising the artistry, Daichi edged closer, peering around and over the heads in front of him. He couldn’t dance himself, having what Yui laughingly called the ‘gait of an elephant’ but he could appreciate the craft and the skill of this performance. He observed, letting his eyes peruse each movement, watching the flick of wrists and the slight hitch of his hips. Then raising one hand, the dancer gestured towards someone on the side, and as if on an invisible thread, a second dancer was reeled in. 

As he watched, all the dispassionate observations about beauty and aesthetic fled Daichi’s mind.

Except for a certain fluidity of movement, they were not alike. Taller and with brown hair, the first dancer held attention with his stance and haughty attitude, a golden coronet of leaves bedecked his hair, shimmering under the lamplight.  Twirling beside him, his partner was a wisp of silver, lithe limbed and light on his heels. The golden dancer had a degree of expertise that even to Daichi’s unpractised eye, he could tell the other man was lacking.

But all that counted for nothing as the second dancer began to sway and his hips swished, causing his skirt to flounce across his thighs.  Daichi’s jaw slackened, his eyes widening as the hem of the tunic, ivory twisted with silver fringing, brushed his pale skin. He was slim, but muscled, the definition more stark because of his movements, stretching each leg as he span towards his partner.

Before long, the musicians were no longer playing for the party but for the two who danced, their melodies keeping perfect time with the snake like movements of the pair as they continued to perform.  Hands cupped faces, lips graced skin, and fingertips fled down arms and across the folds of clothes. Gold and silver slowing their pace, then spinning fast until the blur became all.

And still the rhythm continued.

It was primal; their practised caresses at once a show as well as private, giving the feeling that the onlookers whilst intruding were also welcome. A celebration of sensuality; its secrets laid bare for the world to see.

As the golden dancer’s hands drifted to the other’s waist, Daichi’s throat dried. They drew closer, one dancer’s eyes focusing down, intent and knowing. But just at the moment when their bodies were about to touch, the other dancer – the one draped in silver – gyred away, lifting up his head to laugh as he span.

As he pirouetted his over-large shirt gaped, falling off one shoulder to expose a porcelain fragile collarbone. Strands of hair escaped the coronet of silver leaves to tickle his face. Blowing them away, he laughed again, unconscious of the impression he gave, caught up in the joy of movement.

Without realising, Daichi had manoeuvred to the front, his view now unencumbered; his eyes followed every move, every twirl of wrists, and the sashay of hips.

The silver dancer smiled, a fizzing champagne smile, but still it was as if he danced for himself, unaware of the gathering crowd, who spontaneously began to applaud. At that, he paused a fraction, a slight wobble to his steps, and then as he took in the audience his bright spotlight of a smile faltered. Daichi sucked in his breath, the sound was light but it had the effect of drawing the dancer’s attention, so he pressed his hands together as if in prayer, murmuring ‘go on’.  Then, with a flurry of hands, he gave another smile, not wide, not showy, but small and more intimate, then staring straight at Daichi he flashed a wink.

And if the butterflies fluttering in his chest hadn’t been sign enough, now he felt as if they’d turned into fireflies.

_A beauty mark?  How can ... Oh my._

With not so much as a pause for breath, Silver-san (as Daichi had now dubbed him) twirled back to the centre, raising his arms up as the first dancer returned to lift him from the floor.

“That’s Oikawa Tooru,” said a voice behind him. One he recognised, and turned towards as he desperately tried to close his mouth aware he must look as if he were ogling, and not wanting to admit his fascination.

“Who?” he asked, not moving his eyes from the couple now turning in each others’ arms as the cheers reached a crescendo.

“Golden boy,” she replied, and flicked her hair away from her face.

“Am I supposed to know him, Hana-kun?”

“Ha!  I forget how recently you came here. Yui-chan talked about you so much, I seem to have known you forever.” On the pretext of waitress duties, Hana slid into the space next to him, proffering her tray.

He took a glass, realising she had to be seen to be working, but tugged on her sleeve. “Enlighten me?” he said, affecting nonchalance.

Oikawa was solo now, finishing the show with a leap so balletic it was as if he’d stopped mid air. Glancing sideways, Daichi watched as the other dancer took a bow, then applauded his leader, basking in the glow of his success.

“A performer, as you can see,” Hana answered. “He’s always at this type of event. He leads a troupe of dancers, I’d guess you’d call them, but they’re more like professional party-goers. Anyone who is anyone invites Tooru and his friends, so he can pick or choose.”

“He’s paid to attend events?”

“Nothing so crude. He’s as rich as Midas, but lives for thrills rather than money.”

“You _know_ him?”

“I’m aware of him,” she countered, and gave a mock curtsey, balancing her tray on the flat of her hand. “I am but a humble catering operative, Sawamura-san.”

Knowing Hana managed events for the rich and famous, he raised his eyebrows at her understatement, and she grinned back.

“And he chose to come here,” he murmured almost to himself.

“Ah, not even Oikawa would turn down this party,” she replied. “Invitations really are like gold dust.”

“I’m grateful you thought of me,” he said, knowing it was Yui she’d actually invited, Daichi being the plus one.

She laughed. “I can tell. You looked bored rigid earlier, but ... uh ... you seem to have found something to hold your interest.” She peered closer, poking out her tongue between her even, white teeth. “Or someone, perhaps. I doubt you have a chance.”

“Out of my league. Yep...” His heart which had started to fly erratically when the silver dancer had appeared, now dulled to a heavy thump when he saw Oikawa drawing him into an embrace, bestowing one kiss on each cheek before dusting his lips with his fingers.

“He has a boyfriend,” Hana continued, gesturing with her head. “With muscles almost as large as yours.”

Following her gaze, his eyes landed upon someone he’d not seen before. Also in costume, his toga, cinched at the waist with a large leather belt, dropped to his knees. Tied over one shoulder and clipped with an ornate brooch, the guy looked as happy to be at the party as Daichi had earlier in the night. Out of place and deliberately not mingling, his arms were folded across his chest.

What had Hana said? That’s the boyfriend? Then why is he kissing the – “Hana!”

She’d drifted away, serving more champagne and refilling glasses, but turned back to answer. “What?”

“Who has the boyfriend?”

“Oikawa,” she replied, shaking her head in bemusement that he even needed to ask.

“Then what about the other one?”

“Who? Oh ... him?” She stopped to refill a glass, smiling diligently at a girl who was holding out her glass in an almost peremptorial manner.

“Yes, the other one.”

“I have no idea,” she replied over her shoulder. “They come and go.”

He was losing her to the professional world of fixed smiles and graciousness as guests clamoured for champagne and demanded her attention. So deciding he couldn’t impinge on her time much longer, Daichi turned around, his eyes scanning the orchestra and the opposite wall. If he was going to take the plunge and get to know anyone tonight, he’d like it to be the one person who’d intrigued him.

The muscled boyfriend was holding two glasses of champagne, but of the two who’d taken the stage so effortlessly were, there was no sign.

Clicking his tongue, Daichi was about to step across to the man, when the music began again. He started back, his hands becoming clammy with anticipation and held his breath.

It was faster music, a tip-tapping beat, clever and bright. It invited foot stamping and clapping, it screamed for the revellers to join in, but no one stepped forwards, all under some joint illusion, that this dance was not for them.

They were right. A couple leapt in front of them, not dressed in Greek attire, but snappy white suits, turquoise bow ties, and a cane in each hand. Well matched in both height and stance, they clicked their toes and heels, tapped the canes on the floor, and twitched their heads in perfect synchronisation.

It was not Gold and Silver-san from before.  Mildly exasperated, Daichi tried to step back into the crowd to continue his search, but he was hemmed closer to the front, and with the dancers’ eyes scanning that room he barely dared breathe.

Polished performers, but with a different kind of flair, the pair kept the crowd amused with sardonic quirking eyebrows and sly smirks before finally  tipping their top hats off their heads to reveal one with dark curls and the other a strawberry blond.

Respite. Great, now maybe I can ...

Someone tugged his arm. Thinking it was an error at first, because no one had shown the slightest interest in him before, he was inclined to ignore it, until another tug and then a sharp whisper, “Sawamura-kun.”

He jerked around to find the source, puzzled because it hadn’t sounded like Hana. “What?”

The pressure on his arm increased, and he was tugged with surprising strength through the crowd, who far from complaining, appeared to part just in front of him, yet still not far enough for him to make out the features of the figure engaging his attention. Coming to the back of the room, the crowd had thinned and he found himself returned to the door where he’d come in, with an arm threaded through his.

The woman was blonde, her hair falling to her chin, and with the sort of eyes that spoke of secrets, a danger if you stared too deep into them. She wore a dress of red silk and lace, cheongsam style with a high neck, and close cut to accentuate her curves, before flaring out like a mermaid’s tail. A gold dragon breathing fire adorned the bodice of the dress, its tail sprawling around her waist as if belted. She was shorter than he, but the red stilettos and arms curled with dragon bracelets, gave the impression of someone far more imposing than her height suggested. Looking down at her, and then at the people around them, Daichi couldn’t help wonder just why no one was looking their way, because she was clearly a woman who caught the eye and drew attention wherever she went.

And yet, no one glanced at her, or paid them any heed at all.

“Do I know you?” he asked, hoping he sounded polite.

“Yes,” she dismissed. “But you don’t know that yet.” She cocked him a grin. “I saw you watching the dancers.”

“I was.”

“One dancer in particular.”

She’d stated it, not asked, so there was little point in denying anything.

“Do you know him?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She laughed. “I know everyone. Suga-chan is new here. Just like you.”

“Uh ... h-how do you know that?”

Tapping the side of her nose, she smirked again. “Not important, and really not that interesting.”

“But I’d like to -”

“Nope. What you’re more interested in is getting to know him, am I right?”

He wanted to say no, hating to lay himself bare in front of her ‘oh-so-knowing’ glare, but with no sign of any of the dancers, or even the boyfriend, this could be the only chance he had.

“You’re right. I’d like an introduction,”

“That all?”

“What?”

“I could ... uh ...” She shook her head. “Dammit, I’m sorry, sometimes I forget myself. Okay, Sawamura-san, I don’t mind helping you out. Though me makin’ the actual introduction ain’t something I can do.”

“Um... okay.” He frowned, puzzled, but as the grip on his arm had lessened, and her dress had appeared to dull, he didn’t dare tempt fate by refusing her offer.

“If you follow the path round the side of the house,” she murmured, her voice much softer, so soft he had to bend forwards, “there’s a wooden gate. It leads to a folly and a pond. You’ll find your dancer there.” She licked her lips. “Grab your opportunity, Sawamura-kun ... while you can.”

Glancing away from her, Daichi stared out of the window, searching the garden for signs of the sidepath. “Is that it there?” he asked, noticing a badly lit walkway bestrewn with brambles. His arm twitched, suddenly much lighter. She was gone.

“What the...” He turned on his feet, arms outstretched to pull her back, but his hand caught the windowsill.

He sniffed his glass, wondering if something dubious had been put in his champagne when he wasn’t looking, but he’d barely touched a drop and nothing else appeared to have changed at the party except the disappearance of the dragon lady.

Then he blinked. “What the heck am I doing standing here, when Silver-san is the other side of that fence?”  No what had she called him?  Suga-chan. It suited him. Chuckling, he wriggled through the group crowding the French windows. It was entirely possible it was a trick and the mystery woman had decided this was the best way of getting rid of him, but why she’d want to do that unless she was the hostess and ...

Actually, he thought, slowing his pace a little, he didn’t have any idea who the host was. The Party at the End was always held here, and not even Hana, who’d catered it the last three years, could give him a straight answer about who threw the party.

_Grab your opportunity._

A waiter glided past. Daichi stretched out his hand, cupped another flute of champagne, and approached the path. A path that was covered in brambles. Brambles that would cut the calves and legs and feet of anyone wearing inappropriate footwear to ribbons. Which Daichi was. Flinching, he took one hesitant step, thinking that if he took it slow and watched exactly where he trod, then maybe ...

_Or what if I ran? I could cover the ground so fast that I’d be skimming across the brambles and nothing would_ – “Oh!”

He’d placed his foot down whilst deliberating, but instead of the crunch and then scratch of thorns he’d expected there was nothing but solid ground underneath.

“I’m on a stepping stone,” he mumbled, and squinting down the path, he saw another loom into view, just one pace away.

“Okay ... let’s go with this.” He shrugged. It was probably some kind of mechanism triggered by pressure. (That didn’t explain why the brambles disappeared from underfoot, but he didn’t think about that until later.)  He took a breath, and then with deliberation placed his second foot on the second stone. More steps appeared along with a dim light glowed from each one, leading up to the door the dragon lady had spoken of.  He reached it in four bounds (not even upsetting the champagne) found the latch, and then pushed forwards.

The door creaked so loud, Daichi was sure someone at the party would look up and follow him down here, but no one intruded. Swallowing, he stepped through and down into a glade. He could see the folly, a type of temple with seven pillars arranged on a large stone circle, gleaming as the moon emerged to cast its light on the pale sandstone. Hearing a bubble of water, Daichi looked around for pond, and then he stopped looking. Stopped wondering where he was and why he couldn’t seem to hear the music any,more because there, standing on the waters’ edge, moon beams dancing around him was the man.

_I can’t do this._

He hadn’t changed, the overlarge tunic top hung low, exposing one pearlescent shoulder to the night. But he was still, very still, and only the faint breeze ruffling his hair gave any sign that he was not carved from alabaster.

The wind rustled the leaves, a wisha-wisha sound reaching Daichi’s ears, and underpinning that, he could almost swear a softer voice, softer than the wind, whispered _‘Save him.’_

“What?” He winced, because it had suddenly gone incredibly quiet, his voice being the only sound around.

“Hello... who’s that?  Oh...” The dancer, Suga, peered over his shoulder. Their eyes met; he started visibly and then his lips curved. “I saw you earlier.”

“Did you?  Yeah, I mean, yes, I watched you d-dance.” He was fumbling his words, any thought he could woo with a honeyed speech gone before he’d even introduced himself. “S-sorry, am I disturbing you. Only ... uh ...” What the hell could he say? He’d hardly wandered in here by chance!

“You were so kind,” Suga continued, as if he’d not heard. “I felt very odd because all of a sudden it was like I’d only just realised there were people there, which was really silly of me because obviously this is a party.” He paused and then started to walk towards Daichi. “I’m Sugawara Koushi, by the way, although everyone calls me Suga, well, most people do, Tooru doesn’t but then -” He paused fractionally, and an odd sound, like a gurgle or gasp,  escaped his throat. “I ... uh ... talk too much, particularly when flustered.”

_You’re flustered? Wow._

“Sawamura Daichi,” he replied, and then fixing what he knew would be a dumb as fuck grin on his face, he stepped closer and held out the champagne. “I brought you a drink.”

“Now that is miraculous. I was admiring the moon in the water and just thinking how good it would be to have a glass of something cold and sparkling, but that would have meant leaving here and heading back inside.” He shivered a little. “I’m not wildly good at parties. I always come out with the most awful rubbish. Or puns. I’m dreadful. It drives Tooru mad and ....” He stopped. “Sorry, I’m babbling again.”

Daichi smiled. His heart, which had been thumping so hard he was surprised it hadn’t burst through his chest, had calmed to a slower beat. It wasn’t that he felt less interested, rather that Suga now felt more human, less ethereal, and thus within reach.

And then their fingers touched, lingering as Suga accepted the glass, heat and chill passing between them, like a biting electric current, and Daichi felt as if he were fifteen again and with the most stupid of crushes on his senpai. “Cheers,” he rasped, and after clinking glasses, he swigged back some champagne, hoping to clear the husk in his throat.

“Salut!” Suga replied, taking a similar sized glug. “Will you join me in the temple?” He giggled. “You don’t need to look so worried. I’m not about to sacrifice you to the gods.”

“I’m not worried. I ...” Daichi looked out across the grass, at the shadows flickering in the wind, and at the perfect peace of the place. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

Suga didn’t reply, but stretched his free hand out, caught Daichi’s fingers and gently towed him through the longer grass towards the Folly.

Sheltered from the breeze, the temple had trapped the warm air making the cold champagne even more welcome. Daichi felt rather than saw Suga release him, and when he sat on the top step, leaning against one of the foremost pillars, Daichi mirrored him, his back against the second stone, both facing forward across the water.

“You’re a dancer, then?” he asked at last. It wasn’t a space filler, he felt that both he and Suga could have sat there forever not needing to talk, but all the same, he wanted to know.

As he shook his head, the gleam of his hair left a silver trail in the air. “Not really. I can dance, but I’m not a professional.” He twisted to Daichi. “It’s fun, but I don’t have Tooru’s skill.” And then he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Did you see Issei and Takehiro – now, they _are_ amazing. I watch them move their feet and they’re both so fast, I still can’t catch the steps, however much I practise.”

_I didn’t notice,_ he wanted to say, but that might have sounded rude, so instead he swallowed some champagne and stretched out his legs. “You looked good to me,” he offered instead. “I don’t have training - at least not in dance - but I ... uh ... you kept up with the rhythm and understood the music.”

_You were mesmerising._

“I’m a musician,” he said as an afterthought.

“Ah, so you do know what you’re talking about,” Suga said, a teasing lilt to his voice and his stretched out his foot, nudging Daichi with his toes. “Are you playing tonight?”

A ragged laugh lefty his mouth, a kind of scoff, which he hoped didn’t sound bitter. “I doubt the host has heard of me,” he muttered, then smacked his lips together adding in what he hoped was an assured tone, “I’ve only been here a few months.”

_Did five count as a few?_

“Neither of us are locals, then,” Suga replied. He lifted the glass to his lips, but instead of drinking, he licked a drop from the side of the glass with the tip of his tongue. “I’m a runaway.”  Then he laughed at Daichi’s sudden frown. “Not really. I ran away from small town attitudes, disapproval and an aunt who thinks dancing is beyond reproach.”

He was frowning, and counting something out on his fingers. “And I met Tooru on my twelfth day here, which was extraordinarily lucky.”

“He ... uh ... employs you?” Daichi asked, hesitant and unsure he really wanted to know.

“In a way.” The smile was back, but softer, more reverential, and clearly not for him. “He and Hajime took me in.”

He gestured high with the hand holding his glass, toasting the sky. “And we go to places like this. Tooru dances, I join him, and everyone’s happy. Good, don’t you think?”

“You enjoy it,” Daichi said trying to keep any tone out of his voice.

“It’s life,” he murmured, more to himself, Daichi thought, before he sipped once more at his drink. “And I get to meet handsome strangers who bring me champagne.”

He stiffened. “There’s a queue?”

“Oh NO!” In horror, Suga scooted across the step to Daichi, touching him on the arm. “That was my horrible attempt at saying thank you. Practically everyone clamours for Tooru, and anyone who bothers with me is only after an introduction. I’m-”  He peered into Daichi’s eyes, suddenly colder. “Is that why _you’re_ here?”

He hastened to reassure him, shaking his head. “I saw you dance and knew I had to find you.” Screwing up his eyes, Daichi sighed. “Sorry, that sounds so melodramatic. I looked for you at the party –to compliment you on your dancing - and someone directed me here.”

Through his shuttered lashes, he could see Suga perusing him, a flash of suspicion crossing his face, but then clearing as quickly as it had arrived. “I’m glad.”

From the mansion, a strain of music reached them. Daichi waited for Suga to say he had to go back, but he didn’t move apart from sipping more champagne, not even when the clapping started and it was clear another dance was in progress.

“You’re not needed?” he asked, holding his breath.

“Not unless I want to be there. Tooru doesn’t mind, and he knows I need space.”

“Would you like space now?”

Suga gazed at him, taking a soft but decisive breath and drained his glass. “Only if you’re in that space too.” Getting up, he took a bow, then held out his hand. “How about you dance with me, Sawamura-san”

“I... can’t. I’m really a very bad dancer.”

Suga reached out with both hands. “Not with me. Come on.”

Half laughing, Daichi allowed himself to be dragged to standing. The music had changed, something slower, but still with a thumping bass. Suga’s feet, he was amused to see, were already twitching, and he could hardly sit back down, not when Suga was so charmingly insistent, his palms pressing on Daichi’s arms.

“I don’t know the steps,” Daichi protested.

And he laughed, not a musical trill but a mischievous giggle as he twisted in Daichi’s arms. “I don’t know them either. I listen to music and just let myself go. Flailing arms, missteps galore, but ... it’s fun, don’t you think?” he breathed.

_With you, yes._ And although Daichi tried to push the thought away from him, he couldn’t help but notice that Suga wasn’t flailing his arms at all, but was holding onto him, still dancing close and looked in no hurry to spin away.

He was light in Daichi’s arms, and for all his talk of missteps and no technique, he had a certain skill, particularly in negotiating his way around Daichi and what he felt were his clumping feet.

“Sorry,” Daichi muttered, after a near miss where he caught Suga’s little toe.

“No need to apologise.” Suga replied, and squeezed him harder, “And don’t stop dancing!”

“I’ll injure you!”

“Not me,” Suga said, and now he twisted under Daichi’s arms, the skirt of his tunic floating in the air, brushing against his thighs. His eyes sparkled, and then he let go of Daichi’s hands as he began a series of pirouettes, faster and faster than each before. And all Daichi could do was watch and hold his breath as each silver thread of Suga’s costume appeared to set him aflame in white.

“You’re so beautiful,” he called out, not caring he’d uttered out loud what was burning inside of him.

Suga came to a halt, not sudden, but slowing as he returned to Daichi, stopping to bob a curtsey. There was a flush on his cheeks, whether from the exertion or the compliment, Daichi was unsure, but it had the effect of rendering him even more alive and vibrant.

“Thank you,” Suga whispered, and then, tilting up he brushed his lips on Daichi’s cheek. “You’re kinda beautiful yourself, you know that?”

“Me?” And now he was blushing, a furious puce that he could feel steeping his whole face and not the delicate damask in Suga’s cheeks.

“Very,” Suga countered. He draped his arms around Daichi’s neck, his eyes drinking him in as his fingers twisted into his hair. “And warm and alive and _here_.”

It was he thought, looking back, an odd combination of words, but as Suga edged closer, he lost all track, bending his head down, lips meeting lips.   Despite the warmth of the evening, Suga’s mouth was cold and tasted of champagne. (It had to be the alcohol sending Daichi’s mind into a spin, and not the hands cupping his face, the tongue now smoothing under his upper lip, and the way Suga brushed his body against Daichi.)

_‘Save him.’_

“What is that?” Reluctant as he was to break away, Daichi moved back, peering over Suga’s shoulder and towards the lake.

“What’s what?”

“Voices,” Daichi replied, not yet responding as Suga tried to pull him closer. “I heard them before, but I can’t see anyone.”

“Does it matter?” Suga asked lightly. “Being seen?”

_That’s not what I meant._ He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then ...” Suga trailed off, and closing his eyes, he pouted his lips onto Daichi’s cheek. “Hey, come back to me.”

“S-sorry.” Daichi blinked, trying to rid himself of the feeling that something was out there. Not a person, necessarily, but something big that felt all encompassing.

Dropping his arms, Suga stepped away, wandering down the steps and to the pond. “It’s too fast, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Us. Meeting like this, and now kissing,” he stated, and clutched his arms across his chest, his back to Daichi as he stared out across the pond. “Blame the moonlight, Sawamura-san.”

“No.”

“I thought there was ... I don’t know ... something going on, but like dancing, I guess I got carried away,” he continued. He sounded strained, his voice not soft or gleeful anymore.

Taking a step, ignoring every thought of whispers and portents, Daichi joined him by the water’s edge. He reached out, touching Suga on the shoulder.  “You’re beautiful,” he repeated, hushed and tender, his finger brushing Suga’s cheek and watching in wonder as heat flushed over his face. “And I’ll go back into that party and dance with you all night, if that’s what you want.”

Turning, Suga pressed his lips into Daichi’s palm. “I’d rather stay here.”

They kissed again, Daichi pulling Suga close, his hands moulding around his waist. He was warmer, pulsing in Daichi’s arms, teeth nuzzing his lip, nails scratching at the nape of Daichi's neck.

When they broke for breath, they talked; soft snatches of conversation, few words some inconsequential, and others more loaded. But all the while, Daichi was conscious he was giving away more about himself that he was learning about Suga.

Not that he cared. As intriguing as he found Suga, he had no thirst to discover all his secrets. It was enough that he was here, that _they_ were here, together in the night.

“So, what do you play?” Suga asked on one such break.

“Guitar mainly. “Piano, too.”

“Pipes?  Flute?” Suga asked.

He smiled wryly. “No. I can do this –” He mimed strumming his guitar “- and this –” He switched his hands as if tinkling piano keys  “- but somehow the woodwind and brass are beyond me.”

“And do you sing?” Suga queried, not yet responding as Daichi kissed his brow.

“Voice like gravel, Yui says.”

“Who’s Yui-san?”

Daichi gave up trying to kiss him, leaning back to take a breath before replying. “Flatmate and old friend. We were at school together, then she moved away three years ago, I guess. My father died, and I had no ties left, so I followed to try my luck.”

“Girlfriend?” he asked, no edge, studiedly neutral.

“Do you think I’d be here if I had a girlfriend?”

“Ha, how would I know?” Suga replied, but the faux air of casualness he’d had about him disappeared along with the tension in his shoulders. “Tooru tells me practically anything goes.”

Deciding he disliked Oikawa Tooru even more, Daichi pecked a kiss on Suga’s ear, then sucked on his lobe before straying to his neck. He felt before he heard the vibration and groan coming from Suga’s throat, and continued to explore. Suga smelt of blossom drifting on the breeze, the buttercup warmth of sunshine and a hint of honey.

“You make my head spin,” he gasped, pushing Daichi away. “I thought dancing was intoxicating, but this ...” He twirled around, staring up at the sky. “Sometimes when I pirouette it’s like two worlds colliding and I’m not sure which one’s moving. I can twist and spin and there’s a moment of utter stillness. And it’s a toss up whether I’ll fall or come to a graceful halt.” As if to emphasise, he span even faster, laughing to the skies, before toppling forwards, landing in Daichi’s outstretched arm.

He winked. And Daichi groaned involuntarily, kissing him again, far more thoroughly, far more tenderly, as he stopped him from falling.

“My hero! You saved me,” Suga whispered when at last he pulled away for air.

“I always will,” he swore.

If he’d known where the promise would lead, he wondered months later, would he have sworn such an oath?

And the answer always came back to him, as insistent as the voices of the reeds.

_Yes._

 

 


	2. feel the warmth, we'll never die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sexual content warning is relevant for this chapter.)

The sun was warm on his face, not the burn of the hottest days, but the mellow amber heat as summer first slipped into autumn. Lying on the grass, Daichi felt Suga’s fingers close round his, and he groaned knowing what it meant.

“You have to go.”

“I do.”

“Come on, it’s early.”

“Sorry.” Propped up on one elbow, Suga brushed his fingers across Daichi’s face, tracing his lip. “I promised Tooru.”

“Are you dancing tonight?” Daichi asked, adding in his head, _‘Can I come and watch?’_  In his head because since that first night, he’d not been at any of the parties Suga had been a part of.

It had been a month since they’d met, a month since he’d seen a trace of silver flashing through the air, and seen a smile that lit up the room more assuredly than any jewel. It had moved quickly from that first entrancing glance to kisses, the evening ending with goodbyes but no regrets as promises were tentatively made to see each other again. It hadn’t been every day, or all day, but most days at least for an hour, where they’d sit in the sun, or walk through the town, stopping for drinks, or strawberry ice cream which Daichi discovered was Suga’s favourite.

But it was always during the day. As soon as the sun began to fade, to glimmer towards dusk, Suga would shake himself free and make his excuses.

“Not tonight,” Suga replied.

“They why...” He stopped speaking, raising his hand to pull Suga sharply towards him. “Stay here.”

“I can’t,” Suga murmured. “I need to leave, I’ve told you this.”

“Well, you haven’t really,” Daichi grumbled. “All you’ve said is that Oikawa-san wants you to return.” He smoothed his hands around to Suga’s ass, catching his fingers in his shorts’ pockets and giving a squeeze. “Few more minutes.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Suga whispered, but didn’t move.

Daichi smiled and pecked a kiss on his nose. “Thank you.”

“Minutes, that’s all,” Suga warned. “I promised Tooru. And Hajime.”

He must have grimaced because Suga sighed, then swooped down, stopping any protest with another kiss and nibbling his lip.

“Ow.”

“That did not hurt.”

“It did,” Daichi moaned, bringing his hand to his mouth. His other hand clamped tighter around Suga. “You’ll have to stay and take care of me.”

“Incorrigible!” Suga sat up, then reaching to the side he picked up his bag. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I said I had to go back,” Suga replied and clasping Daichi’s hand, he pulled him up to standing. “I didn’t say I had to be alone.”

“Come back to yours? That’s okay, is it?”

“Mmm, unless you have something else planned.”

“Will Oikawa-san let me past the door?”

Suga laughed, and soft punched Daichi in the stomach. “Of course he will. I don’t live in a prison.”  Then his smile dropped and he knitted his brows together. “If I go in first, then you will have to duck down the alleyway. Give me five - no, ten minutes – and listen out for a signal. I’ll ... um ... I’ll whistle, three times and then you need to whistle back.” His eyes flicked to Daichi. “You can whistle, can’t you?”

“Suga, what the fuck is this place?” Daichi started. “You’re twenty-two – not a kid. You’re seriously telling me that you have to sneak-”

Suga was smiling again, his tongue sticking out from between his even white teeth. A slip of a tongue and a twinkle in his eye.

“You’re mocking me.”

“Teasing. Just a little,” Suga replied, and leant across, planting another kiss on Daichi’s lips. “The others want to meet you, so ... can you come?”

“Others?”

“Tooru and Hajime, obviously, and then if you come over tonight, you can meet Issei and Takehiro.”

He had an interview in the morning, a music publisher – one of Hana’s clients – had agreed to look over his songs, and there was a melody in his mind, a refrain he needed time to tease into the air, time that he’d promised he’d find that evening, but he’d already nodded his acceptance.

“We could make it tomorrow, but then it will only be Tooru and that might be worse.”

“Am I going to be interrogated?” Daichi said, only half in disbelief because the way Suga talked about Tooru, it wasn’t just fond, but reverential.

“Yes, but if the others are there, then it will be diluted.” He shrugged. “They’re interested in who I’ve been seeing, that’s all, but I’m not going to hold it against you if you don’t want to join us.”

There was a sigh in his words, and it was that more than anything, which caused Daichi to forget the work he needed to do. He stretched over, took Suga’s hand and held it to his lips. “I’d love to.”

They meandered through the park, away from the secluded area that Suga had found (he always managed to find them even when the places they went were heaving, Suga would carve out a place for them both away from curious eyes) and towards the gates leading into town.

Daichi hadn’t known what to expect from Oikawa’s house.  Hana had said he was rich, but Suga talked about Hajime cooking and Tooru enthusiastically decorating the house, while he joined Issei and Takehiro in the garden. He never mentioned servants, but gave the impression it was five of them mucking in. As Daichi stared from the garden path leading to the door, he took in a building that wasn’t a mansion, but wasn’t small either. And then he realised that what he’d expected was something modern and flashy, perhaps European in design, and not what was in front of him.

Oikawa Tooru lived in an old house. With an undulating wide, sloping thatched roof and deep eaves, it comprised two floors with wooden slatted blinds across rectangular windows. The thatch wasn’t fresh straw, but old and packed with moss, so set among the trees, the house looked at one with the wood, an organic structure rather than a concrete block intruding in the space. “What do you think?” Suga asked, linking arms.

“Amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before. It’s like a storybook house.” He grinned. “Is there a turret room full of magical unicorns?”

“Ha ha – no,” giggled Suga. “But I know what you mean. I was blown away the first time I saw this place. It’s like the houses I used to draw as a kid. There are even sunflowers in the back garden. And it has been wonderful watching them follow the sun. I’d only ever seen them in books before.”

The path wound towards a large arched door, overhung with beams and hanging baskets adding splashes of red and purple.  Taking Daichi’s hand in his, Suga pushed the garden gate, and tugged Daichi along in his wake. He trod slowly, seemingly aware that Daichi was taking in not only the sights but the sounds around him. Birdsong, and rustling leaves, a brook babbling in the distance, and the faint sounds of laughter – or was it panpipes – in the air.

Idyllic.

So caught up in this epitome of bliss, Daichi searched the trees, fully expecting bluebirds to swoop to Suga’s hair, or maybe deer to peep through the trees, perhaps lambs would gambol on the grass, or mice make daisy chains, or -

And was thus completely blindsided by a sudden howl and then a teeth- baring snarl as a sandy haired dog raced towards them.

“JEEZ!” He clutched Suga, then standing in front of him, he scoured the ground in desperation for a stone, or stick, anything he could use to ward off the hell hound bounding their way.  “Suga, RUN!”

But Suga wriggled away, and dropped to the ground, holding out his arms. “Kenta!”

The dog didn’t listen, his teeth now gnashing at the air, setting up a series of barks. It leapt and Daichi threw himself on top of Suga, anything to save that soft mother of pearl skin from the fangs threatening to rip him apart.

It leapt over them both and carried on running until it got to the gate. Barking once, the dog pushed the swinging gate shut then trotted back to Suga.

Pushing Daichi off, Suga reached across to the dog, patting his back and scratching his ears, muttering ‘good boy’ and ‘yes, I’m sorry’ in equal measures.

The dog, after another growl, wagged its tail, then ran back down the path.

“You know that dog, then?” Daichi asked, trying to act nonchalant as he picked himself up from the grass. He removed a twig from his shirt, then ran his hand through his hair, dislodging dust and petals.

“He’s part of the family,” Suga said vaguely. “He’s not really anyone’s, but he’s kind of attached to Hajime, and turns up sometimes. That -” he flicked his head towards the gate. “- was a rebuke for leaving the gate open. Tooru doesn’t like visitors, so it’s a rule of his.”

A lot of rules.  “Uh ... so me visiting could be a problem?” He peered warily down the path, seeing the golden dog slip inside the house.

“You’re a guest, so not uninvited,” Suga replied. He raised his hand, a smile appeared, and following his gaze, Daichi was confronted with the figure of Oikawa Tooru standing in the doorway.

He was in costume.

Not the gold tunic from the party, but something dark red and black, belted at the waist. As they got closer and Oikawa dropped the hands that were on his hips and stepped forward, Daichi realised that what he was wearing was a smoking jacket over black trousers, flaring wide at the ankle.  “I was about to send out a search party,” he called.

“I’m not late, Tooru,” Suga replied. “And I’ve brought-”

“A visitor, yes I can see.” Tooru stopped walking, eyed Daichi, and then held out his hand, his lips twitching. “Tendou-san, I presume. Koushi’s done nothing but talk about you since-”

Before Daichi had time to process the wrong name, Suga grabbed his hand tighter.

“TOORU!” Suga protested. “He’s joking! Tendou is ... uh ... Who was he again?”

“Someone who admires you, Kou-chan,” Oikawa drawled and arched one eyebrow, totally studied as he perused Daichi. “Come in, Sawamura. I was teasing. You’re the one Koushi hasn’t stopped talking about.”

“TOORU, please!”

“Koushi, you need to let him know there’s some competition.”

“What?”

“Ignore him. There’s no competition,” Suga growled, and showing a surprising flash of temper, he pushed past Oikawa, dragging Daichi with him.

“Uh ... okay,” Daichi muttered, then swallowed. He could feel Oikawa’s eyes on him, his smirk burning through the back of his head and a welt of irritation flooded briefly around his gut. It was a test, he guessed, a minor one, but he was damn determined he wasn’t going to fail.

Quietly clearing his throat, hoping it really had been seconds that had passed and not the full minutes he dreaded, Daichi raised his voice just a little, still giving the appearance that he was talking only to Suga by nuzzling his hair and replied, “As long as I’m winning, then what do I care about the competition?”

Oikawa laughed, then coming up behind him, he slapped him on the back. “Fu fu, good answer, Sawamura-chan. I like you.”

His hand was hard, and he curled his fingers, kneading his knuckles onto Daichi’s spine – a gesture at odds with the lightness of his tone.  A threat? Possibly. A warning? Definitely. 

He turned his face towards Oikawa, and saw a flash of challenge in the brown eyes.  And remembering their dance, remembering the almost kiss, he met that gaze and wrapped his arm around Suga’s waist. “Good,” he said. “I’d hate us to be enemies, Oikawa-san.”

Raising both eyebrows, a quick quirk of a movement, very definitely not planned, Oikawa dropped his hand. “I,” he said, a few moments later, “do not have enemies. Friends, lovers, rivals – that’s all. Anything else is below my notice.”

“Lordy, change the tune Tooru,” Suga said sighing, adding to Daichi, “He thinks he’s an emperor, ignore him. Where are the others?”

At that Oikawa grinned, fully amused. “Apart from that mad dog, it’s just me, Kou-chan. Mattsun and Makki are out drumming up business. You’ve just missed them.”

“And Hajime?” The words seemed to stick in Suga’s throat as he edged closer to Daichi.

“At the hospital,” Oikawa replied.

“He’s a doctor?” Daichi asked.

“Something like that,” Oikawa said smoothly, although he seemed surprised at Daichi’s interruption. “There’s been an incident in town, so he was called in.”

“Ah, okay. Will he be back soon?”

“I doubt it. He’s warned me he could be there all night,” Oikawa murmured, his mouth grim. “Koushi, will you stop looking so cornered? I’m not about to shine a light in Sawa-chan’s eyes and demand he spills his secrets! Besides, he looks as if he could stand up to any interrogation.”

To dispel the tension, Daichi raised his hands, palms upward, and fixed both of them with his lopsided grin. “Interrogate away. No secrets, I promise.”

“Over dinner,” Oikawa said. “Far more relaxed, then. For now, take a seat. Koushi can make tea and you can ask me whatever you want.”

Keeping the smile on his face, Daichi relinquished Suga and followed Oikawa into a largish sitting room. With one futon, and a series of brightly coloured cushions on the floor, it was clearly designed for everyone to use. A wide cheery space, with a small television in one corner, a low table easily able to accommodate six people, and rows of shelves along one of the longer walls, housing an assortment of books. What drew the eye, though, was not the colour scheme (newly painted turquoise and white stripes) nor the series of photographs on the wall, or even the large cactus standing guard near an impressive set of French windows, but a piano in the furthest corner.

“Koushi says you’re a musician,” Oikawa murmured, sinking languidly to the floor and gesturing for Daichi to join him.  “Will you play for us later?”

“I’m better with guitar,” Daichi said and sat on a red cushion opposite. “And I’m a composer. I figure it out in my head, but it’s better when someone else plays.”

“It’s his work, Tooru,” Suga said, carrying a tray as he entered. “Leave him alone.”

“And you get work?” Tooru asked, ignoring Suga’s glare.

Daichi accepted a cup of tea from Suga and stared back at Oikawa. _You are not his parent, and I’m not sure what the situation is here, but I sure as hell am not going to be made to feel like some snot-nosed teen on a first date with your precious daughter._

Oikawa smirked.

_Fuck, did he just read my mind?_

“My flatmate plays in a band,” he replied. “They use some of my songs. In fact they’re playing tomorrow, Suga, if you fancy it.”

“Oh, that’s-”

“Not possible,” Oikawa interrupted. “Koushi, we have the Equinox festival coming up.”

“That’s next week, Tooru.”

“Practise and ... this is in the evening, I presume, which means it’s out of the question.”

“Tooru!”

“You _have_ to take it easy.”

_What?_

“Ah, I can see by Sawamura’s face you haven’t explained to him where we met, have you, Kou-chan,” Oikawa breezed. He pouted a little, then switched his attention onto Daichi, lowering his heavy lids. “It was in hospital. Koushi was a patient, and I was visiting.”

“Hospital?” Alarmed he slopped his tea into the saucer.

“It was nothing,” Suga muttered, and shot Oikawa a blazing look.

“You could have died!”

“Appendicitis,” Suga protested. “Tooru’s exaggerating and I’m fine now.”

 “Full recovery, Koushi,” Tooru murmured, “that’s all I ask and then you can dance full time.”

“Uh...” Biting his lip, Suga stared down at his hands, his eyes flicking to Oikawa and then to Daichi. “Tooru’s right. I probably shouldn’t overdo things.”

Shrugging, Daichi sipped more of his tea, heartened at least that Suga had remembered he took one sugar. “There’ll be other gigs,” he said neutrally, but his mind was working overtime, trying to work out exactly what kind of hold Tooru had over Suga.

“Koushi tells me you met at the Party of the End,” Oikawa began when the silence had started to become scratchy. “Not one of the musicians, though, so how were you invited?”

“That’s rude, Tooru.”

“It’s fine,” Daichi replied. “Friend of a friend, isn’t that how things work in this place? And, you’re right, even if you haven’t said it aloud, but I was out of place.”

“Koushi’s glaring at me, so I’m supposed to say that of course you weren’t out of place, but ...” Oikawa trailed off, and perusing him, Daichi saw a faint glimmering smile on his lips, his features softening as he deliberated his next words. “I strongly suspect you were in exactly the right place, which is why my fellow dancer is so happy.”

Suga’s face had become a flush of colours, white then pink spreading across his face.

“In the rose garden, Koushi tells me,” Tooru said, seemingly examining the cuffs of his jacket, but his eyes were flickering.

Hearing a rattle of cup against saucer, and a hitch of breath to the side of him, Daichi kept his cup steady, unfazed despite the fact that entire first meeting was firmly imprinted on his brain and there’d been no roses. Was this Oikawa fishing? Searching for a lie? Or had Suga deliberately smudged the truth? “Roses and honeysuckle,” he lied.

Appearing satisfied with that, Oikawa finished his tea, then lounged back on the cushions. He reached for a remote control, pointing it at the television before replying, “As Sawamura doesn’t wish to play, I think I’ll catch the news and see if Hajime’s likely to be home soon.” Then, a beat later. “And, Koushi, if Sawamura’s staying, then you’re going to have to attempt to cook.”

Blinking in disbelief, realising he’d been accepted at least for now, Daichi swallowed away the lump of tension in his throat. “I ... um ... I can help, if you’d like.”

“You can cook?”

“My flat mate doesn’t complain,” he replied. “And neither does her girlfriend.” 

“Then that has to be better than Koushi or me cooking,” Tooru said, and getting up he grabbed Daichi’s arm. “Seriously, Sawa-chan, we burn water.”

 

He was laughing in the kitchen. With Oikawa still in the sitting room, watching television, and shouting out odd snippets of conversation, it was Daichi and Suga preparing dinner. Suga was possibly the worst cook Daichi had ever encountered. Currently peeling vegetables, he chatted so much as he carried on two different conversations, that the carrots were more peel than carrot.

“Onions next!” he breezed, holding one in his hand. “How do you want them?”

“Diced,” Daichi replied, then snorted at Suga’s bemused expression. “That’s in little cubes rather than slices. Cut the bottom off.”

“Bottom? It’s round?”

“Please,” Daichi wheezed. “Please tell me you’ve cut an onion before.”

“Um... well, not that I can remember. My aunt hated me hanging around the kitchen,” Suga said, hopping between each foot. “Show me?”

Taking the onion, Daichi quickly cut off one side, peeled away the outer layer, then placed it flat on the chopping board. “Cut vertically here,” he said, miming the action, “then horizontally, but don’t cut into the root. After that you cut down and you should end up with small pieces of onion.”

“Cool! I really haven’t cooked much at all. Hajime does everything  when he’s here. Says cooking is his stress relief, I have no idea why because as far as I can see it’s ... OW!”

“Finger?” Daichi rushed to him, immediately solicitous.

“Eyes! What’s in this thing?  It squirted me!”

“What’s happening?” Oikawa cried. “Koushi, what’s wrong?”

“He’s chopping an onion. No, Suga, don’t rub your eyes, you’ll make them worse,” Daichi replied, and dragged Suga across to the sink.

“Bite a spoon, that’s what Iwa-chan does,” Oikawa called back. The TV blared louder, and they heard the telltale sound of an audience laughing at a show.

“Do you want a spoon?” Daichi whispered.

“Does it work?” Suga asked, now wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

“Not really. Wash your hands and I’ll finish.”

But Suga didn’t move; instead he put down the knife and turning he wound his arms around Daichi’s neck. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

“What for?” he asked, wondering why Suga was whispering.

“Going along with the rose garden story,” he replied. “I wasn’t supposed to leave the party.”

“I figured. We were both trespassing, I guess.”

“I don’t think of it like that,” Suga replied, and tilted his head to the side. “I was told about that place. A lady showed me the path, so ... is that trespassing, if I’ve been given permission?”

“Lady?” Daichi balked. “Short blonde hair and a red dress, not a toga.”

“Mmm, that’s right. She told me it was tranquil.” He smiled softly. “And it was.”

“Until I blundered in,” Daichi muttered wryly.

“No, you just made it more perfect,” Suga whispered. Kissing him gently on the mouth, he rested his cheek on Daichi’s shoulder.

And although the smell of onions pervaded the air between them, as Daichi bent his head to Suga’s hair, he inhaled the scent of the warm afternoon – mown grass and sunshine.

“This isn’t getting the dinner cooked,” Suga said after a while. “What time do you have to be home?”

“Me? I’m not on a schedule, and don’t have anyone I have to be back for, Suga.”

He went very still, and was so close, that Daichi heard a hitch in his throat and then the sound of swallowing. Suga pulled away, just a little, and gazed at him, his eyes wide and a small tremble to his lips.  “Would you like to stay over?”

And now Daichi’s breath stopped. Suga’s body was pressed against his and his hands began to drift up and down his back, nails skating over his shirt. “Together?” he rasped. “Not that I’m pressing for anything, and I’d be happy to ... ah ahhhhh -” He broke off as Suga slipped his hands around his ass, little fingers gracing his thighs.

“Yes, together,” Suga whispered, his breath hot on Daichi’s neck. “Unless this is going too fast.”

_I’ve got an interview_ ... he should have said, but another voice drowned out the logic in his brain.

_Grab your opportunity._

_While you can._

Was this why he’d had the impression they were running out of time? Or was it the thump of Suga’s heart? Its beat fast but light, a timpani fluttering against his shirt – life at a whisper, erratic but there - Daichi cupped Suga’s face. _“_ It’s not too fast,” he muttered.

***

To Suga’s obvious relief, the two other dancers from the party made it back in time for dinner. Matsukawa, much the tallest of everyone there, had the kind of loping grace Daichi envied and eyebrows that waggled suggestively as soon as he saw Suga’s visitor. He said nothing though, leaving that to his partner, who snapped out a remark about fast work and cooking something up together, which made Oikawa frown and Suga blush.

But  despite the fact they were clearly a couple in more than just dance, and spent a lot of time lounging against each other and indulging in conversations only the other seemed to understand, Daichi didn’t feel put out by them. They accepted his presence, asked a few questions, muttered sympathy over his difficulties in making a living, and generally welcomed him to the group. There was an ease about the pair, a rightness, as they smoothed the edges off the other, and in some respects it was as if they were one complete person, rather than individuals – twins, although they clearly weren’t.

“Tooru, employ this guy for when Hajime can’t cook!” Matsukawa declared, pushing his bowl away after finishing thirds.

“Or _instead_ of Hajime,” Hanamaki  continued. “At least until his experimental phase has fizzled out.”

“All those chillies,” Matsukawa said, shivering.

“Please?” Oikawa sounded faint, and reached for his iced water.

“I liked them,” Suga piped up, and turned to Daichi. “Hajime said he had some chilli peppers called hellfire. I mean, the clue was in the name, but no one thought they’d be quite that hot. Tooru’s banned them, unfortunately.”

“Don’t sound so disapproving!” Tooru snapped. “Iwa-chan was the first to panic when Kenta  swallowed one whole. And if you think onion vapour in your eyes stings, then you’ve got a shock coming, Koushi.”

The banter continued, Suga pressing Tooru to say what he actually meant and demanding the story of how he knew what chilli juice on the hands would do. Daichi listened in, amused because from what he could see Suga knew exactly what he was doing, but was determined to tease Oikawa, maybe to make up for his interrogation further.

“All I’m saying,” Suga said, “is that as you never cook, then how do you know how to prepare or not prepare chillies?”

“I don’t cook _now_ ,” Oikawa retorted. “That doesn’t mean I never have. Many, _many_ years ago, I lost a bet and had to cook for a -”

“See how he exaggerates,” Suga said rolling his eyes. “Tooru will have you believing he cooked for royalty when he was three, or something.”

There was a flurry of voices, Hanamaki speared another carrot, while Matsukawa got to his feet saying he’d clear the dishes. Oikawa was silent, not continuing his story, his expression neutral but for the paleness of his cheeks. Not embarrassed at being caught out in a fib, but maybe angry, Daichi wondered. Although it was such a small story, and a clear fabrication, that he couldn’t see why Oikawa would be angry with Suga at all.

“I want Iwa-chan,” he said moodily. “He should be back by now. Do you think I should fetch him?”

“No!” Matsukawa and Hanamaki chimed.

“He won’t thank you for it,” Hanamaki added. “And we’re here, just in case.”

“Leave him to do his job,” Matsukawa murmured, turning his face away from Daichi. “He’ll be back when he can, okay?”

 

But Iwaizumi wasn’t back early. It was dark and Oikawa had long since drawn all the curtains, making Hanamaki check the gate, and ensuring all the windows were locked as a precaution. A precaution against what, Daichi didn’t ask, only noticing that the three of them were edgier as the night drew in, eyes constantly flicking and bodies twitching at the sounds of the house.

The only one unaffected was Suga, now sprawled over the futon, and cuddled up to Daichi as the pair of them pretended to watch television. He gave a yawn, covering his mouth with a fluttering hand, then wriggled away.

“Bed, I think,” Suga said, not looking at anyone. “Daichi’s staying over, by the way.”

“We gathered that,” Hanamaki said dryly.

“You should have told us earlier and I coulda made up the spare room,” Matsukawa catcalled, and laughed as Suga evaded Tooru’s outstretched arm. “As it is you’ll have to rough it in Suga’s room, Sawamura.”

“We have practise tomorrow, Kou-chan,” Tooru reminded him, with a faint reproof.  But for all that, he looked more relaxed, reassured, apparently, by Daichi’s presence.

 

“Sorry about them,” Suga murmured, taking Daichi’s hand to lead him up the stairs.

“No need to be. They’ve made me feel welcome. Although-” He paused on the stairs, ruffling Suga’s hair and twisting a tress of the silver strands between his finger and thumb.  “- I thought Oikawa might refuse permission.”

“I’m not a prisoner,” Suga said, punching him softly on the arm. “Look at this place. It’s wonderful, a real home, and he really does only have my best interests at heart.”

“Why is that?” Daichi asked, then swallowed because he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“Philanthropy, he says. He has a lot of money and a lot of time, so rescuing waifs and strays like me is how he makes up for being so effortlessly rich and privileged,” Suga replied. “So, it’s really not a prison living like this.”

_A prison’s still a prison even if the bedsheets are silk,_ Daichi thought, but said nothing.

They trudged up another three stairs, moving across a small landing, and then turned again to climb one small flight. It was darker at the top of the house, and although Daichi had teased over the place having turrets, he was delighted to see Suga’s room was in the eaves, with slanting ceilings and a large dormer window flooding the room with moonlight.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Suga breathed, his face tilted up and bathed in silver.

“Yeah, you are,” Daichi replied, and with his arms firmly around Suga’s waist, he gathered him closer.

As they kissed, gentle touches becoming harder, teeth nuzzling lips, Daichi lost his footing and stumbled onto the bed pulling Suga with him.  He stopped, giving Suga the chance to scoot to the side, but Suga stayed, and slid his hands up to Daichi’s face, running his fingers through his hair, smiling down at him.

In the moonlight, he was ethereal and far more like the silver dancer Daichi had seen by the water’s edge. It was only his nearness, his very palpability and the warmth of his skin that grounded Daichi to the fact that they were here, in this place, at this time, and so very real.

Tentatively he tugged on Suga’s shirt, a light movement, still leaving it entirely up to him, yet Suga’s smile didn’t falter. Levering up, he pulled off the T shirt, dropping it somewhere on the floor, and sat astride Daichi.  His skin was warm under Daichi’s touch. Dappled in silver, as Daichi traced a path from the fair hair on his stomach and up to his chest, Suga moved, an arch to his back as he submitted to each caress.

“Shall we ... uh ... get out of these?” he murmured, dropping his hand to Daichi’s hip. “I want to feel you against me.”

Wriggling out of his shirt and then his shorts, Daichi flipped onto his side letting his hand trail down Suga’s partially naked body, resting his palm at the dip of his waist.

And then he looked, really looked, taking in the beauty of his body. Suga was a dancer, not a professional – not yet – but the tone was evident, from the definition of his abdomen, and his taut muscles of his thighs. Yet he was slim, too, the slenderness utterly belying his strength. Beside him, Daichi felt clumsy and lumpy, the past few months of relative inactivity catching up with him. Yet Suga splayed his hand across Daichi’s stomach, and pressed his lips to his chest.

He didn’t move for a while, the boldness of his initial suggestions seemingly gone, so taking the initiative, Daichi started to trace a small circle around the jut of Suga’s hip.

“What do you like?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Suga started.

“What would you like me to do?” Daichi said, adding, “For you, I mean. What would you like, Suga?”

“Uh...” He buried his face in Daichi’s chest, his words muffled. “Whatever you ... um ... what would you like? I don’t want to force ... um ...”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Daichi soothed, because now Suga was trembling, and his heart which had been steady had quickened.  “Okay, how about I start, and if you want me to stop - ” He kissed Suga’s temple, then moved to nuzzle his ear, “- if you want me to stop, then tell me. But also, if there’s something you like, then let me know.”

Suga cleared his throat, unsuccessfully because when he spoke again, he was still rasping. “I don’t ... um ... I don’t know what I like.”

_Oh? OH!_

“I mean, I’ve kissed and been kissed, but it’s uh ...”

Daichi smiled at him. “Then all I’ll do is kiss you.” For a split second, disappointment flickered across Suga’s face, and Daichi pecked his nose. “Everywhere.”

He started with his mouth, slowly pouting then sucking on Suga’s lower lip. Soft and moist, inviting him further, but tempted though he was, Daichi strayed away, letting his tongue flick down to Suga’s chin, feeling the rasp of soft stubble. Suga groaned, throwing his head back as Daichi explored further, nuzzling Suga’s neck until all he could hear were short breaths and sighs.

He kept his hands on Suga’s hips, letting his mouth do all the work, and revelled in the small gasps and minute writhes.

“You like this?” he asked, flicking his tongue over Suga’s nipple.

“Mmm.”

“And this.” He nipped lightly with his teeth.

“Yea - ss.”

“This?” He brushed his chin across Suga’s ribs as the softer skin of his lips pouted lower.

“Gods yes. There is ...” Suga gasped, and his hands pressed into Daichi’s shoulders as Daichi began to lick the fair trail of hair leading downwards. 

Suga was hard, his cock straining through his boxer’s, and although Daichi had promised to ask him every step of the way, had decided very definitely to take it slow, the temptation was too much. He huffed out a soft, warm breath, pressing his lips to the fabric, and then nuzzled the tip of Suga’s cock.

“Ohhh.”

His tongue followed his lips, swirling across and Suga’s fingers tightened briefly in his hair before letting go.

Daichi paused. “You all right?”

“Me?” Suga asked.

“No other. You want me to go on?” His hand, which had been edging inside the waistband of Suga’s pants, ceased its journey.

“Uh.”

“Okay... I’m slowing this down,” Daichi whispered, and moved away to crouch at the end of the bed.

“Nooooo, come back,” Suga cried, beginning to shift down towards him.

 With a smirk, Daichi lifted one of Suga’s legs by his ankle. “I said kissing all over, so ...”

He had a mole on his calf, and another in the crook of his knee. Smoothing a trail first with his fingertip, impressing his thumb into Suga’s satin skin, Daichi used his upper lip to nudge his way up Suga’s leg, nuzzling a path until he reached the softer flesh of his inner thigh. Suga’s heel pressed into his back, his hands returned to Daichi’s hair, desperate but not yet willing to hold him in place, to keep him there.

“This?” Daichi whispered, his tongue snaking upwards.

“Mmmhmm.” His fingers fisting against Daichi’s scalp.

“Other leg?” he suggested, still flicking with his tongue as his hand began to rove again.

“Daichi!” Suga groaned then slackened his hold, one leg splaying to the side, the other still across Daichi’s shoulder. “This is all too good.”

Smirking, Daichi looked his thumbs under Suga’s waistband, then tugged his pants, sliding them mid-thigh. “This is where it gets better,” he muttered, bending down. “So. Much. Better.”

“What are you-”

“Kissing,” Daichi replied and placed his mouth at the base of Suga’s cock, “involves not just the lips, but the tongue.” He lapped and swirled up the shaft, hesitating before going on, waiting to hear Suga’s groaning gasp. “And the teeth.” He nuzzled the cock tip, sliding his teeth across the top, opening wide, leaving it barely there, before suddenly, unapologetically, taking Suga in his mouth, plunging down.

Suga keened.

Moving his hands around to Suga’s ass, clutching hold as he lifted him closer to his mouth, Daichi sucked.  Suga arched his back, mumbling despairing words, nonsensical words digging his nails into Daichi’s shoulders.

It was sudden, a series of jerks as Suga came hurriedly, desperately, crying out into the night, panting as Daichi finished by planting another kiss on his stomach and rubbing his thumb over Suga’s hipbone.

“This?” he teased.

“That was amazing,” Suga breathed, his voice uneven. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe this.”

Shifting up to the pillow, Daichi reached out and stroked Suga’s cheek, his thumb smudging the mole under his eye, and then he leant over and dropped a kiss on his brow. “Was that your first time?”

Suga blinked, then gave one rapid nod, and although the light was silver, Daichi could see colour flooding his face. “I didn’t know,” he muttered, then gulped. “I didn’t know it could be like this. That I’d _want_ it to be like this.” He exhaled, then propping himself onto his elbow, he leant across and ruffled Daichi’s hair. “I’ve kissed and been kissed, and not really known a preference before, but not ... nothing went further.”

“So ... um ... you and Oikawa-san...” Daichi mumbled into the pillow. “You’re close, yeah? I can see that when you dance.”

“Very different. We’re performing, that’s all, giving the audience what they want to see,” Suga said, smiling down at him. “It’s like Tooru says: anything goes in this town. But when I’m dancing,  I don’t feel like a person, but it’s ... it’s like I’m the dance.” He shook his head. “Is this making sense?”

“ _O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, how can we know the dancer from the dance?_ ” Daichi whispered. Suga frowned, puzzled. “Poem I learnt at school. Never made sense before, but ... yeah ...  I think I get it. It’s like a singer in a jazz band isn’t just a vocal, but an instrument, too.”

Suga kissed him again, slow and tender, slipping his tongue inside Daichi’s mouth. “What do you like, Daichi?”

He’d changed the subject, but as his hand slid down Daichi’s side, and he started to nuzzle his ear, Daichi didn’t feel like questioning him anymore.

 

It was later, much later, when he’d been dozing for a while that Daichi woke. It could have been a noise from outside (maybe the dog scratching at the door) or perhaps the moon’s reappearance as it shone its last beams through Suga’s window, but his eyes opened and he groaned.

_Interview_ , he thought. _And I didn’t finish that song. Dammit._

Suga was lying across him, his head on his shoulder, limbs curled together and a sheet drawn across their waists. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, his face in repose a different kind of beauty, and a soft curve to his lips even as he slept. Daichi had never felt less inclined to move, knowing he’d be disturbing the perfection of the moment, but Hana had put herself out for him in lining up the meeting, and although Daichi knew it was as much for Yui as for him, there was no way he could let this opportunity slide.

He moved his arm, but in trying to extricate himself, Suga opened his eyes. “Wasser matter?” he mumbled, yawning.

“Nothing,” Daichi assure him. “But I have to go.”

“What time is it?”

“Five ish. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow ... uh ... I mean today, but this afternoon.”

“Can’t you stay?” He blinked and clutched Daichi closer

“Sorry.” Wriggling to sitting, Daichi caressed Suga’s hair marvelling at its silkiness even as he disengaged himself.  He explained briefly about the meeting, apologising again both for disturbing Suga and not having mentioned it before.

“S’alright,” Suga replied, sounding sleepy. “Makes a change you skipping out on me.”

Finding his shirt and shorts, he took a little longer locating his underpants (Suga had thrown them across the room, and they were draped across a bookshelf) but dressed quickly. Reluctant to leave, it was only the fact that this was a real chance opening up in front of him, that was dragging him away because Suga in the pre-dawn light, yawning and rubbing his eyes was just as desirable as when he danced for an audience.

He risked one small kiss, flashed Suga a smile, and then pulled away.

“Stop!” Suga grabbed his arm.

“I have to go, Suga.”

“Mmm, but the doors are locked, so I’ll let you out.”

He dressed in a flash, and they tiptoed down the stair, stifling giggles as they passed Oikawa’s room and heard him humming in his sleep. The house was dark, but switching on one small sidelight, Suga found the keys and unlocked the door.

“Go,” he whispered.

“I’ll be back.”

“I know,” Suga replied. He stretched up, linking his hands around Daichi’s neck to pull him down for another kiss. Their mouths touched, Daichi gathered Suga in his arms, hitching him up to rest against the low porch wall, allowing himself the luxury of one last kiss before he ran all the way home.

“When I’m with you, it feels like we’re the dance,” Suga murmured when at last they pulled away. “I’m spinning so much, it’s as if I’m on stage.”

Laughing, Daichi released him, and after one last grin, he loped down the path towards the gate. He turned back to wave, unlocking the latch and let it swing open, creaking before it hit the fence.

Suga was waving, taking smaller steps from the porch, his smile as effervescent in the silver light as it was in sunshine. A surge of emotion bubbled through Daichi, and cupping his hands to his mouth he cried out, “I love you, Sugawara Koushi!”

Too soon, perhaps, but Suga’s response belied the haste. Forgetting his bare feet, he sped down the path, launching himself forward, his arms outstretched. “I love –”

And then the world spun fast (too fast).

The moon disappeared, and the starlight dulled, coalescing into a grey formless mist around Suga. He gasped, his head wrenched back, his words frozen as the world stopped spinning, crashing down.

“SUGA!” Daichi yelled. “SUGA!”

He leapt towards him, but even in that split second, he saw everything in slow motion. Suga, what was Suga, what made him Suga, had ceased. He was fading into the fog, which cloaked around him. Silently and with deadly calm, the living breathing man became an outline of silver.

“SUGA!” Daichi shouted again. “Help me. OIKAWA-SAN! HELP!”

Desperate for the others, he started down the path, but before he’d taken two steps, he was yanked backwards by one strong arm.

“What the fuck have you done?” snarled a voice.

“It’s Suga. I didn’t. He’s gone. He just. I--- I _must_ get to Oikawa!”

“Too late for that! He’s not there. Everything’s fucking gone. ”

And then Daichi looked, really looked, and where the house had been, with its green thatched roof, cultivated lawns and wide oak door, there was nothing.  It was him and the stranger only.

“No, no, NO! What’s happened? I don’t understand.”

“You fucking happened, that’s what!” the man declared, and wrenched Daichi to face him.

He was around the same height with short spiky hair and a fierce expression. Unmistakably the out of place man from the party, Daichi gulped, knowing this was Iwaizumi, the one Suga had spoken of with such fondness and whom Oikawa had fretted for that evening. There was a boy at his side, clutching Iwaizumi’s hand as if he’d never let go, and for all his anger, Daichi could tell Iwaizumi was reining in an urge to punch Daichi across the ground.

“Please,” he begged, “what’s happened to Suga?”

“Gone,” Iwaizumi snarled, and pushed him away onto the road.  “Now get the fuck out of here and let me do my job.”

“I can help. Just tell me what’s going on?”

“You’ve done enough!” Iwaizumi yelled, and bent down picking up the boy with one arm. “Come on, Akira-chan. We’ll find Tooru-san, just might take a little longer than I thought.”

“But what about Suga?” Daichi demanded.

Iwaizumi’s shoulders shook, he turned and stared back over his shoulder, catching Daichi with a bleak look, his eyes glimmering. “It’s too late. Some people can’t be saved.”

_Save him,_ the reeds had whispered.

But there were no voices now.

And even as Daichi sprinted towards Iwaizumi, determined to help, the first light of sunrise spread around him in muted pinks and pale yellows to reveal he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, predictions and cookies very much appreciated. 
> 
> Suga unable to chop an onion still makes me laugh.


	3. palms rise to the universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters appearing, although you might have figured out one of them from the previous chapter.

_‘Save him.’_

There was a haze in his mind. His eyes as he tried to open them, felt heavy as if lined with lead, and there was a pounding in his head. Deciding against making sense of it, Daichi drifted back to the fog.

“I thought he was about to wake. His eyelids flickered. They definitely flickered,” someone was saying.

“It’s a reflex. It’s possible he heard you, but he’s not ready to wake yet,” said a slow, ponderous voice, loaded with authority.

A pause and something that sounded like a sob. “Doctor Goshiki said to prepare for the worst.”

“Goshiki is a junior,” the man replied. “What Sawamura needs is sleep.”

_Sleep ... yeah ... sleep is good._

“Can I stay?” It was the first voice again.

Female.

Familiar.

Her scent was too. Not perfume, but some kind of soap or showergel. Lemony.

“Yes, but don’t pester him.” A different doctor, who sounded tired, irritable and young. “Your fiancée will wake when it’s time and he won’t want to see you fretting now, will he?”

_Fiancée?_

“I’ll keep quiet,” she replied. “I just want him to know I’m here. It would be horrible if he woke up to no one.”

There was a sound like a ‘pfft’ and then the swish of a door closing. Then all Daichi could hear was the beep of a machine (or was it a very persistent phone) and the muffled breathing of the girl.

He went back to sleep.

 

_‘Save him.’_

“Whazzat?”

A light was coming from somewhere. He could feel it warming his eyelids and searing a pinhole passage through the fug in his brain.

There was a hand in his. Small, with short nails, soft fingers curling around his own. It reminded him of kindergarten, walking down the path to the games field and having to hold hands. He’d always been partnered with the same girl, and she’d never held his hand right, always leaving him with his wrist at an awkward angle so then he’d let go, readjusting so he’d feel comfortable. Their sensei would yell at them week after week, but she’d never find them different partners. In the end, she accepted their palm paddling and stopped shouting.

_Or maybe Micchan and I worked out how to hold hands._

_Micchan,_ he thought.

“Hey, Daichi,” she whispered, and her hand began to squeeze his. “I’m not supposed to bug you, but you know me, I can’t stop talking. So if you want to sleep, then ignore me like you did when we were eight and went camping. Remember that trip?”

It had rained and the tent she’d been in had leaked in the corner, getting her wet, so she’d begged to share with him and then not kept quiet all night. Ghost stories. Not very scary ones, and he’d rolled over, closed his eyes tight and waited for her to stop talking.

“Rubbish,” he mumbled, his eyes still heavy.

“DAICHI!” she shrieked. “DAICHI.”

“Rubbish ghost stories. Can I sleep now?” he wanted to say, but he could hear the rasp in his words, and her hand had left his as she cried out again for help.

There was no point in sleeping, not with the door swinging open and several insistent voices vying for his attention. Practised hands checked his pulse, something was attached to his finger, and a light was shone in his eyes.

He blinked. “Need sleep.”

“And you can, Sawamura-san, but if we could examine you?”

“M’kay.” He forced his eyes wide open and found himself face to face with a bespectacled, grey-haired man wearing a white coat.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Head a bit. And arm. Throat.”

A nurse poked a straw in his mouth, bidding him to take a sip. It was water, nothing more, but it did the job, loosening away the husk that seemed to have attached itself to his vocal chords.

“There’s a drip in your arm. Where does your head hurt?”

“Front,” he replied. “You a doctor?”

“That’s right, Sawamura-san. Do you know where you are?”

“A hospital?” he guessed.

“That’s good.” His hands were rough but warm and gentle as he cradled Daichi’s head. “We have scanned you, Sawamura-san, and found no obvious cause for your ... uh ... situation, so if there is anything you can remember ...”

“I have a song to finish.”

“Hmm?”

“Song. I left Suga’s ‘cause I had to ...” He yawned, his head was fuzzy again. “Song thing. Meeting. Hana knows.”

“Who’s Hana?” the doctor asked, although Daichi got the impression he didn’t really want to know but was just trying to keep the conversation going.

“Micchan’s -”

“Our friend,” Yui jumped in and held his hand. “How are you feeling, darling?”

_Darling?_   He raised his eyebrows – she frowned back.

“Tired,” he said, and yawned again. “Why am I here?”

“Don’t you remember what happened?”

He thought, or tried to. Maybe start with the last thing he could remember and see if he could piece it together from that, but the mist was back, like a black hole in his brain. “Um, I ... there was a gate ... and a kid ... small kid. And light. Silver light.” He screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the haze to clear. “Sorry.”

“You’re doing fine,” the doctor said. “It’s perfectly normal for memory lapses in cases like this. I could fill in some blanks for you, if you’re not too tired.” Daichi nodded and the doctor flicked open his notes. “You were found collapsed on a pavement. At first the police thought you were drunk, but they didn’t want to take any chances so brought you in. You were just conscious at that stage, but we quickly ascertained that there were no drugs or alcohol in your system. You were more or less coherent, but clearly in some distress, so we decided to keep you in overnight.

“There’d been a gas explosion in the city centre, so we made the assumption that you’d somehow been caught up in that, despite being found the other side of the city. We were about to sedate you, but you fainted and then drifted into a coma.  We ran some tests but everything came back clear.”

He paused, then placed his hand on Yui’s shoulder. “Our best guess at that stage was a head trauma, but as I said the scans showed nothing. There was nothing medically wrong with you, except that you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I don’t remember,” Daichi tried to look apologetic.

 “So then we wondered if there’d been an emotional disturbance,” the doctor continued, “but Michimiya-san said you’d been very happy recently, and she couldn’t think of any reason why you’d ... uh ... shut down.” He pressed his lips together, gnawing with his teeth. “We’re at a loss, quite frankly, which means we would rather you stayed in for a while longer.”

“Sure.”  He was feeling tired again, his eyes dry and achy. “Sleep is good.”

Satisfied, the doctor reattached the clipboard to the bottom of the bed and left the room. Michimiya let go of Daichi’s hand, flashing him a rueful smile.

“Fiancée?” he muttered.

“It was family only, so the only way I could get in to see you.” She waved a hand in front of him, displaying a rather gaudy ring on her third finger. “They must think you’re very rich to buy me this.”

“Rich and with really bad taste.

She giggled, then stopped, and looking at her closer, he saw tears springing from her eyes, leaking down her cheeks.

“What’s up?”

“You!” she cried, and went to punch him before remembering where they were and slapping her hand into the mattress instead. “I’ve been so worried, Dai.”

“Hey, I’m good. You heard that doctor, they can’t find anything wrong.” He tried a grin. “You weren’t boring me with awful ghost stories, were you?”

“Stop it,” she rebuked, and took his hand. “I wasn’t with you, Daichi. They police found you completely alone at seven in the morning. They couldn’t get any sense out of you at all. I was terrified.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I’ll be out of here soon. Probably just needed to catch up on sleep.”

She gaped, her mouth dropped open, and her hand began to grip tighter. “This wasn’t twelve hours catch up, you know. Daichi, you’ve been out of it for over a week.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It’s been nine days, that’s why you have the drip. _That’s_ why everyone’s been so worried. _That’s_ why it was family only and I’m wearing this fricking rock on my hand,” she said, her voice quick and high.

“Nine days?” he repeated, aware he must sound stupid. But nine days. That was ... ludicrous. 

And then the void in his brain shot to the fore. The blank space he’d been vaguely aware of nestling in the top part of his skull pushed its way through. The grey mist sharpened, full focus as blurred lines became pinpoint sharp. A face frozen in the early dawn light.

_‘Save him.’_

He jerked his head. “Where’s Suga?”

“Um...” Yui gripped his hand, and gave him a wavering smile, her eyes darting around the room.

“Michimiya, where is he? If it’s been nine days, then I have to know where he -”

He’d been engulfed by grey. And the house. The house had ...

Gone.

“Suga!” he cried, and wresting his hand away, Daichi made to sit up in bed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the lethargy in his limbs. “Where is he, Micchan? Where’s Suga?”

“Stop ... stop!” She grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the bed, her eyes now on the door. “Daichi, please, you have to rest.”

“Suga’ll be worried, for fuck’s sake. He knows I’m here, right?”

He had to know. The mist. The fog, the disappearance, all that was a nightmare caused by ... by whatever had landed him in here in the first place.

“He’s ... uh ... “

“Tell me, or so help me, I’ll rip this out and walk,” he threatened, closing his fingers around the drip.

“Please,” she entreated. Her hand reached across to his chest, pressing into him before finally Yui met his eyes. “I don’t know if he knows. I tried to get in touch, but I have no idea where he lives or works or anything. Hana catered the Equinox party, and Oikawa-san was supposed to be there, but he didn’t turn up. There’s been all this speculation that he’s one of the victims of the explosion and the media are in a frenzy because no one’s found a body. But ... uh ... look, there’s no suggestion that Sugawara was involved. He’s just ... um ... absent.”

He released the drip tube and sagged back into the pillow. “He’s gone,” Daichi whispered.  “Oikawa, too, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki. They vanished, Yui. I saw it. I saw them all just ... _vanish_.”

“Matsukawa?” She blinked. “One of the dancers, right?”

He nodded furiously. “Yeah, double act guy with Hanamaki-san. Tap dancing. Remember?”

“Mm, I do remember, but ... they’ve not disappeared, Daichi. They were at that party - Hana tried to speak to them - and the press have been bugging them for news of Oikawa, but they’ve refused to speak. Not even a ‘No comment’.”

“But they were there with us, and if Suga’s gone and Oikawa, then...” He sucked in a breath, trying to process the exact events, the chronology evading him. But he’d met them. He’d talked with them, and they’d eaten the food he’d cooked. They had to know what happened.

“Daichi, what are you doing?” Yui asked, alarm returning to her voice.

“I have to leave. I need to go to the house.”

“What house?”

“Where I was found,” he snapped. “There’s a house. I spent the night there. It’s where they all live. Or lived.” His head began to throb. “I don’t know anymore. There was a house and then there wasn’t, but then I could have dreamt it, or maybe I have banged my head and it was all a hallucination. But there was someone else -”

“Daichi, you need rest,” Yui interrupted, her hand reaching towards a buzzer on the wall. “Maybe they can give you something to help you sleep.”

“Iwaizumi,” he said, brushing her hand away. “He was at the party and he was there at the gate. With a kid. But he’d been at the hospital. He’s some kind of doctor. Yui, he’s a doctor, he’ll know. Find him for me, please?”

“If I ask, will you promise to rest?” she said.

“Yeah.”

She held out her hand, curling her little finger at him. “Pinkie swears,” she said, dead serious.

He debated going along with it just to placate her, waiting till she’d left before hopping out of bed and making his own enquiries, but then he looked at her, really looked at her, and the enormity of what she’d been through struck him forcefully.  The dark semi-circles under her eyes, the hair scragged back behind a band and the creased clothes all yelled of a girl who’d spent her nights here fretting while he slept.

“Pinky swears,” he agreed, clutching her finger with his. He kissed her hand for good measure. “I’ll be here when you return, okay?”

“Guess that’ll have to do,” she whispered.

***

Two days later and they were no further forward. Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t a doctor at the hospital. From what Yui and Daichi had gleaned, he wasn’t a registered doctor at all, or any kind of hospital worker. No one they spoke to had heard of him, or recognised his description, not even the police. The mention of Oikawa’s name had been met with interest but then a shrug when they realised Daichi had no idea where he was either.

And the police weren’t interested at all in a silver-haired dancer called Sugawara Koushi, who no one had reported missing anywhere.

“Did you go to the house?” Daichi asked when Yui turned up.

She was carrying a hold all with a fresh set of clothes and shoes inside, his discharge from hospital imminent now the doctors were satisfied he wasn’t about to collapse again.

“We looked for it,” Yui said, gesturing to Hana.

“And?”

“Nothing meeting your description,” Hana replied. “We drove up and down the road, then tried a different road and another, but no houses with thatched roofs, no creaking gates, and nothing with trees or sunflowers.” She smiled grimly. “There’s nothing around there with trees and a winding path, to be honest, Sawamura. Certainly not within walking distance of the park.”

“Nothing?”

Hana sighed and sat in the bedside chair. “This is the city, not a rural town, and your description is like something out of a story book.” She shrugged. “You think you over-romanticised it, or something?”

It was like a story book. He remembered believing birds would appear, that everything was far too perfect. But just as he opened his mouth to agree, Yui left the room to find the doctor and Hana leant forward.

“Look, I need to know something,” she said.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you take drugs, Sawamura?”

“Whaaaaat?”

“I’m not condemning you. In my opinion, it’s a pretty dumb thing to do, but I’ve seen enough shit in this city to know it’s widespread in ... uh ... creative circles and to not be shocked.”

“Hana, I -”

“Only if you are, and if you were taking them with Sugawara, then that would explain everything,” she continued, ignoring his outraged expression. “And you need to ‘fess up now, ‘cause Yui-chan’s been through hell these past two weeks.”

“I swear to you I wasn’t on drugs. I didn’t even drink alcohol.”

“And your dancer or Oikawa didn’t slip you anything?  It could explain why they’re not around. You might have collapsed and so they ran, scared of the consequences.”

“No.”He cut her off. “The doctors did a full tox screen. I was clean. Besides, I remember everything now. I’d have holes in my memory if I’d been drugged.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“What?” he demanded.

“Houses don’t just disappear, Sawamura.”

He gritted his teeth, not annoyed but frustrated because he couldn’t blame her questioning. It was unbelievable. There were no logical explanations for his story, but at the same time, he knew it was true. And as he tried to recall that night it was as if he were watching a slow-motion replay  over and over, desperate to discover something intricate when all else had been plain.

Suga had vanished. The house had disappeared, as had Oikawa. Finally, the man he’d been talking to at the gate, Iwaizumi Hajime, had thrust him hard on the ground, then he too had slipped into the darkness.

It wasn’t possible.

And yet it had happened.

How?

“You’re not dressed!”

He glanced up at Yui, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, would quite like some privacy,” he muttered. Then pulled a face at her narrowing eyes. “I’m not about to do a runner. Just turn your back or something, all right?”

“Dai-chan, we shared a bath together.”

“We were five. I’ve grown a bit,” he said, scowling when she went peals of laughter.

But they turned their backs, not looking around while he ripped off his revolting, green hospital gown and pulled on his trousers. There was a mark on his chest, and another on his abdomen, very faint but still there, as was the memory of Suga’s mouth on his skin, his teeth nuzzling and the utter pleasure flaming through him.

_‘Save him.’_

_I didn’t dream you._ He touched the marks, smearing them with his thumb, then shaking his head, he reached for his shirt, buttoning it up tight.

“’K, I’m set. Let’s go.”

“Set for what?” Hana asked.

“Looking for Suga, of course.”

“Uh... no.” Yui was firm. “You’re coming home and going straight to bed.”

Hana was staring at him, her mouth a thin line as her eyes bored into him. _Yui-chan’s been to hell and back._ Her words drifted between them. He nodded at her, agreement tacit, and then smiled at Yui.

“You’re right, Micchan, take me home.”

***

By the evening, he was bored out of his skull and restless as hell. Under Yui’s beady gaze, he’d agreed to stay inside, placated only by the knowledge that she’d sworn to find out where Matsukawa and Hanamaki were next performing. Reunited with his guitar, he’d finished the song he’d meant to show Hana’s producer friend, then turned his hand to writing another. But although the melody soared, the words eluded him. All he could think as he picked out the tune was spinning, silvered diamonds.

_Maybe Sugawara  doesn’t want to be found_ , Yui had suggested, tentative, chewing the side of her thumb.

But he remembered him running full pelt towards him, arms outstretched and a smile as bright as moonbeams.

“Is that the new one?” Yui asked, staggering a little under the weight of a tray.

Daichi stood up, putting his guitar to one side, and immediately held out his arms to help. “Something I’m working on,” he replied, and placed the tray on the table in front of him. “Steak and chips – you have no idea how good this looks.”

“I figured hospital food was horrible, and you needed feeding up,” she replied, smiling at him.

“Eat with me,” he murmured, patting the space next to him on the futon.

 “I’m going to, but mine’s still cooking,” she replied. Her phone went off, not the ring tone she’d set for Hana (who might have news) so he settled back and started to eat.

“Uh-huh.”

...

“Yes, we can do that.”

...

“Usual rates is fine.”

_Must be a band booking,_ Daichi thought, laughing a little at the way Micchan had tried to act nonchalant over the thought of getting paid.

“Covers mainly, but we have one or two original songs.”

...

“Okay, let me get a pen so I can write the address down.” Her fingers snapped under Daichi’s nose, and he grabbed a pen from his pocket, holding it out to her. She shook her head.

“Hat and Cane Club?” she said slowly whilst simultaneously gesturing furiously for Daichi to make a note of it. “Underneath the Laurel Corporation building. Yep, I  know it.”

“Do you?” Daichi mouthed, prompting her to ask for directions.

Yui scowled at him, then turned her back, continuing the conversation as she confirmed times. She hung up, swivelled back to face him, a huge smile on her face. “IT’S A PAID GIG!” she screeched, and flung herself at him, smothering his cheek with kisses and ruffling his hair. “AND WE CAN DO YOUR SONG!”

“Really?”  Holding her at half-arms distance away, Daichi grinned at her. “My song? They don’t mind.”

“Nope, the lady said she’d heard it at our last gig and loved it, so ... yeah ... Daichi, you gotta write more. This could be our break.”

“It’s one gig, Micchan!” he said, but he couldn’t stop the bubble of excitement inside of him.

“Hat and Cane Club, Dai!”

He pulled a face, not having heard of it before. “Which is?”

“Really swanky club across town,” she replied, and wriggled towards him, to stare into his eyes. “You will come along, won’t you?”

“I’m not singing, or getting up to play. Chikara’s a better bassist than me.”

“Well, he’s not, but I’m not getting into an argument about that right now,” Yui grumbled. “Daichi, this place is full of the sort of people that were at that party. It’s a well known watering hole.” She licked her lips, pausing as if for dramatic effect, and in that moment, he knew he’d be going along, whatever she was about to announce.

“And the story is that it’s owned by Oikawa Tooru.”

 

***

The  Hat and Cane Club was in the basement of the Laurel Corporation. A sign of flashing lights picturing a top hat, pointed the way to a set of steps through an iron gate.  With an hour before the club was due to open, the queue had formed until it was halfway around the block, but with his guitar over his shoulder, Daichi had bluffed his way past the bouncers, who’d merely nodded when Yui said they were a five rather than four piece ensemble.

The bar was empty when they arrived, but a small stage had been erected in one corner and the tables and chairs had been set up ready for the audience. Chikara and Hisashi had already begun their sound checks, and with Kazuhito testing the volume on the mics, they only needed Yui to begin her warm up before they were ready to go.

“You going to play with us, Sawamura?” Chikara asked.

“Out of practise,” he said.

“Just out of hospital, he means,” Yui replied firmly. “So he’s taking it easy.”

“Ah, I heard about that.” Hisashi stopped what he was doing and wandered across to Daichi, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. “Caught up in the explosion at that care home, weren’t you?”

Yui was frowning. Daichi blinked. “They’re not sure,” he replied. “I’d collapsed on the other side of the city, so probably not.”

“They still haven’t found Oikawa, you know?” Kazuhito added from across the room.

“But they’ve accounted for everyone and cleared the site,” Yui said firmly. “I doubt Oikawa-san was even there. I mean why would he be? It was a pretty downtown area.”

“There was that kid who went missing,” Hisashi mused. “That made the headlines.”

“If he existed,” Kazuhito appeared to mutter under his breath.

“A journalist looking for a scoop. The hospital can’t even remember treating him,” Chikara opined.  He smiled at Daichi. “Did the Press ever speak to you?”

He shook his head, hoping his expression was passive, but inside his mind was whirring. A kid. Iwaizumi had been holding a boy in his arms. A bemused and bewildered boy, with sleepy yet trusting eyes.

 “There’s nothing to tell. I was unconscious for a bit, that’s all, so where’s the story?”

“I’m ready to warm up,” Yui said, with such an air of determination, that the other three band members immediately returned to their stations.

Pouring himself some water, Daichi wandered away to study the club. In a while it would be heaving, but with just them, and a caretaker who’d let them in, it was tranquil. On dark wood walls, the proprietor had hung several photographs. Daichi scanned each one, hoping for a glimpse or a sign connected to Suga, but the photographs were of famous performers, some far too old to have visited this place, others barely young enough to have made the trip without adult chaperones. An eclectic mix of old and new and about as impersonal and inoffensive as a club could be. Oikawa was in a few, as was Matsukawa, ‘dancing’ with stars of yesteryear – a photoshopped joke, obvious in its editing. There was nothing of Suga here, at least nothing Daichi could recognise as palpably him, save for dancing and costumes. But the dancer in feathers, who twirled so effortlessly with Matsukawa was from another age – the set up as fake as his Greek tunic.

It was standard setting– that was all – which puzzled him because it was clearly going to be buzzing with customers soon and he was hard pressed working out why this place had been deemed special.

“May I help you with something?” a young voice, male, with a faint reproof in the tone. Daichi glanced over his shoulder and for a split-second his breath stopped at the sight of the man’s fair hair.

He checked himself. Light brown hair, not blond, and the man was taller than Suga.

“Sorry, I’m with the band,” he murmured. “Just checking out the photographs.”

“Would you like a drink?”

Daichi held up his water glass. “I have this.”

The man nodded and continued his route, pausing at each table to light the candles sticking out of wine bottles.

It was very ‘bistro’, Daichi thought, like a club from years before, or the idea of one dreamt up by a TV writer.

“You work here, then?” he asked, kicking himself for the unoriginality.

“Manager and barman, but we’re short staffed at the moment, so I’m setting up, too,” he replied, his eyes flicking to the clock on the wall.

“Need a hand?”

“Um ... yeah, if you could. There are ashtrays that need cleaning, and the tables near the stage could do with a wipe down.” He gave grudging sigh. “There’s supposed to be a guy helping, but he’s late – as usual.”

“Sure,” he agreed affably and smiled, hoping he could lull the guy into a sense of camaraderie between them. “Hear this place is pretty popular.”

“And you’re wondering why.” The barman smirked. “It’s ... uh ... the irony, I think. Everything’s a cliché – we even serve clichéd cocktails and beers with dumb names.” He lit the last candle, and turned around to face Daichi. “I do make a mean cocktail, by the way. Taught by the master.”

“Who is?”

“Oikawa Tooru.” He frowned. “You must know he owns this place. Everything here is his idea.”

“Uh... yeah, I ... um ... heard he was missing.”

The man clammed up. “You’re not Press, are you?”

“No, not at all.” He bowed to the man. “Sawamura Daichi. I work in a burger bar – non-ironically. Michimiya-san, the lead singer, is my flatmate.”

“Ah.” He glanced over to the band. “Yahaba Shigeru. Ashtrays are in the kitchen, by the way.”

Summarily dismissed, he wandered behind the bar. He’d said he’d help, so he guessed he should get on with it. Besides, it would give him an opportunity to look around, and maybe Yahaba knew something of Oikawa’s whereabouts, or Suga’s.

The kitchen yielded no clues. It was standard, like the club, serviceably clean, with a pinboard the only sign of anything personal. Aware Yahaba was watching, Daichi went straight to the sink, filled it with soapy water and plunged in each glass ashtray.

He was leaving them to drain when he heard the door slam. A voice yelling ‘I’m here’ with no apology, and then a spat of words between Yahaba and the newcomer. Daichi peeked over his shoulder, spying a short but bulky man, with cropped blond hair. He was wearing tight jeans and trainers, and a red bomber jacket with a snarling wolf picked out in back on the back.

“You’re not even dressed!” Yahaba yelled.

“Because I biked over, arsehole! I have my uniform here.”

“Get in the back and put it on, then, Kyoutani!”

A muttered expletive, possibly seeing they weren’t alone, and the newcomer stomped away from the club area and barged his way into the kitchen.

“Who are you?” he demanded, but before Daichi could answer, he’d yelled over his shoulder, “Yahaba, who is this? Have you given away my job?”

“No, he offered to help! It’s called being a decent human being!”

“Fuck you!” Kyoutani snarled. He threw something on the ground, then ducking to the side out of sight of the door, he stripped off his jeans.

“You didn’t tell me who you were,” he muttered. 

Daichi stopped what he was doing, figuring he was allowed to turn, and said, “Sawamura Daichi, I ... uh ...” He blinked. Several times. Because face to face with the newcomer, he was assailed with an overpowering sense of déjà vu.

Now in black trousers, a deep red shirt and a black waistcoat, it wasn’t his uniform that was familiar, and Daichi honestly couldn’t remember ever having spoken to this guy, Kyoutani. (He was pretty sure he wouldn’t forget someone so angry looking.) And yet there was something about him.

It was not one-way recognition, either. Kyoutani’s reaction, an instinctive twitch of eyebrows and a baring of teeth, belied any attempt he might make that Daichi was a stranger to him. And as he glared, Daichi watched his shoulders tense, the tendons in his neck became more pronounced, and his stance completely altered as if he were about to pounce.

 “Fucking hell!”  Daichi sidestepped hurriedly, clattering into the sink and sending an ashtray scudding across the counter. “What... you’re ...

“YOU!” Kyoutani seethed through his teeth. “How the fuck you dare - YOU DARE show your face. After what you done. You fucking get –” He leapt at Daichi, and no quick sidestepping could save him now, so on instinct he raised his arms, a desperate attempt to ward off an attack. He was knocked to the floor, Kyoutani’s hands pressing on his shoulders, his hands like paws with claws for nails.

No, not possible.

But the image in his head wouldn’t shift and as Kyoutani glared at him, all Daichi could see was another’s eyes – light brown and beady, outlined in black – and his teeth, this close, looked uncannily like fangs.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!” he yelled, lifting his hands to push him odd.

Kyoutani snarled again, and gripped tight, but although he was strong, Daichi had muscles of his own, not just his arms, but legs, and curling up, he heaved his assailant off him, sending him flying across the kitchen. Springing up, he considered grabbing an ashtray to brain Kyoutani, but shoved the thought away to consider options.

Here was the link. Not the club, but an actual witness to the events the night Suga had gone missing. Because as fantastical as it looked, he was sure, bloody sure, that the man in front of him was –

“Kenta!”

Kyoutani’s attention switched on instinct at the sound of the voice. It was as if his ears had pricked, or he was obeying a leader, no matter how much he wanted to lead, he slumped back against the wall and merely stared at Daichi.

It was Iwaizumi. He stepped into the kitchen, from a side entrance, his back to Kyoutani, and reached out to Daichi.

“You hurt?” he asked, not gently.

“No.”

“You’re lucky.”

No apology. No explanation.

“Why would he attack?”

“Ask him, not me,” Iwaizumi retorted. He studied Daichi, nodded, then turned back to Kyoutani. “Gonna tell him.”

“Everything?” Kyoutani muttered.

“I reckon he’d like to know why you wanted to rip his throat out, Kentarou. So would I.”

“His fault,” Kyoutani spat. “His fucking fault. All of it.”

“Not exactly true,” Iwaizumi replied. He softened his voice then walking across to Kyoutani, he offered him a hand and pulled him to standing.

“He didn’t shut the fucking gate,” Kyoutani hissed. “First rule.”

“Which he didn’t know,” Iwaizumi said, rubbing Kyoutani behind the ears. “I’ve established that now, okay?”

“Shouldn’t be here,” Kyoutani said, not sounding the least placated and glowering at Daichi so fiercely that Daichi stretched his hand to the draining board just in case the ashtray would be needed.  “Why is he here?”

“I’m with the band,” Daichi said. “And ... uh ... I heard this club was owned by Oikawa and I wanted to speak to him.”

“Why?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes narrowing. “There’s a press officer who handles all his shit if you’re after a job.”

“It’s Suga,” Daichi interrupted. “I want to know where he is.”

Silence. Kyoutani glanced at Iwaizumi, his eyes wary, but Iwaizumi didn’t move, only a muscle going in his temple gave a hint to the turmoil.

“I have to know if he’s all right.”

“He’s gone,” Iwaizumi said.

“I know that,” he replied bleakly. “Where?”

“Nowhere you can follow.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t.” Iwaizumi turned away, his decision made.

“But that’s ... No, I’m not having that.” Daichi started forwards, and before either of them could react, he grabbed Iwaizumi’s sleeve, swinging him round to face him. “I saw something, and no one believes it, but Suga vanished in front of me, and then the house did, and finally you led a boy into that darkness. Yui and Hana think I’m mad, that it never existed, but I was there. I ate food in the house – hell, I cooked the fucking food with Suga. I stayed the night, Iwaizumi-san.” He glanced sideways, meeting Kyoutani’s eyes. “And I met your dog.”

As Kyoutani snarled, Iwaizumi silenced him with a click of his tongue, and then very slowly uncurled Daichi’s fingers off his sleeve.

“Koushi’s dead,” he said softly, gently, his eyes not untender as he clasped Daichi’s hand.

And that news should have sunk Daichi. It would have done but for the persistent voice harping on and on in his head, and now rising to a crescendo louder than any storm.

_‘Save him.’_

“No,” Daichi replied, equally softly and utterly sure. “He’s not dead. Someone is telling me to save him, and has been telling me for month.”

“What! Who said that?”

He took a breath, heaving it in through his nose, because despite seeing Suga vanish, and admitting that to a man he barely knew, declaring  persistent the voices in his head was a whole other level.

“It’s a woman’s voice,” he muttered. “I heard it months ago, and not again until that party. Save him, that’s all she says.” He paused. “She’s still saying it.”

Behind him he heard a noise, an indrawn breath and a muttered ‘thought so’. He twisted on his feet, not entirely surprised to see the other players of that night now walking through the door. Tall, self-assured, they gave the appearance of being entwined without touching.

Matsukawa inclined his head. “Told you he could be useful, Hajime.”

“I don’t need -”

“Yeah, you do,” Hanamaki replied. “ _We_ can’t go there, and it’s better if you’re not alone.”

“He’s not alone!” Kyoutani yelped. “I’ll be there.”

Despite being utterly confused, Daichi didn’t miss the look being exchanged between Iwaizumi and Hanamaki.

“Not this time,” Iwaizumi murmured, placing his hand on Kyoutani’s shoulder. “It’s not like before.”

“Sawamura’s the obvious choice,” Matsukawa put in.

“You have to be fucking kidding! I don’t know anything about this guy!” Iwaizumi despaired, before twisting around to Daichi. “No offense, but we’ve not met, and all these guys say about you is that you can cook.”

He raised his hand. “Look, while you’re arguing can I just ask if any of this is helping Suga? He’s the one missing, so if you need my help in some way, then I’m in.”

Kyoutani barked a laugh. “He has no fucking clue.”

“Because you’ve not bothered to tell me,” Daichi tried to say, but the voices around him were too fast, too loud, all contradicting each other. He tried again. “All you’ve said is that he’s dead, and that’s the one thing I don’t believe.”

“It’s too dangerous for you, Kenta,” Iwaizumi said, ignoring or not realising Daichi had spoken.

“You saying you don’t trust me.”

“Last time - ”

“Last time I went too far. This time I know better.”

It was Matsukawa who answered, laying his arm across Kyoutani’s shoulders.  “Look, no one’s saying you’re not up to it, but this one ... this trip ... it ...” He paused, flashing Hanamaki a side eye, who picked up the tale.

“This one’s not for you. The consequences are too great if it gets fucked up. Not just for you, either.”

Silence hung between them. Kyoutani’s glare had the intensity of molten steel, hardening to a cold sharp spear.

And then music blared out from the club room, Chikara’s riff setting the air to vibrate, causing them all to spring to attention.

“That’s the levels sorted,” Hisashi said. “If we could get some help setting that spotlight for Yui, though.”

“Kentarou, if you are planning to do any work, then get your ass out here!” Yahaba called and bustled in, hands on his hips. “The band need your muscle.”

He looked fondly exasperated, Daichi noticed, probably used to Kyoutani’s moods and a smile graced his lips in stark contrast to the intensity of the other occupants. But then, catching sight of them all, his face blanched.

“Why are you all here?” he breathed. “What’s going on?”

Kyoutani studied the floor, his feet scuffing against the tiles. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” His eyes flicked around the room, looking at them all, even Daichi, before finally settling on Iwaizumi. “It’s about Oikawa-san, isn’t it?”

“Partly,” Iwaizumi admitted.

“He’s not on holiday at all, is he?” Yahaba questioned, and his brow furrowed into a frown. “He’s _there_!”

Apart from Daichi, they all nodded – a silent acquiescence.

“So why hasn’t he come back? It’s not as if he can’t!”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Iwaizumi murmured. “I suspect he _won’t_ leave because he wants to ...uh ... bring someone back.”

 “And you need me - defo,” Kyoutani insisted and jabbed a thumb at Daichi.  “This guy won’t be up for it.”

“We don’t know that,” Hanamaki reasoned.

“There’s no guarantee he’ll be able to get there.” Iwaizumi said, holding up his hands. “Let alone make it out.”

“Exactly!”

“You _can’t_ go,” Yahaba cut in, grasping Kyoutani’s arm. “And, no, it’s not that I think you can’t do it, but you’re valuable, and he won’t want to let you go without a fight.” He took a breath. “I’ll go, Iwaizumi-san. Take me there.”

“Shigeru...” Iwaizumi trailed off, his eyes flickered to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, their faces identical in their horror.

“Out of the question,” Hanamaki said. “Hajime, there’s no way you’re taking him with you.”

“I won’t,” Iwaizumi assured him. “Shigeru, I need you for something else.”

“Minding the club!” he spat. “Is that all I’m good for now? You’ll take anyone else, but not me. I’m not worthy, is that it? You don’t think I can handle going there. Think I’m weak? I have stared him in the face, you know!  Just because I’m not Oikawa-san, you reckon -”

“It’s Aki-chan,” he interrupted. “And, yeah, it’s minding him, but it’s important. I don’t know how long this is gonna take, but whatever happens, Oikawa will be back, and he’ll want him safe.” He lowered his voice, but sounded no less intense. “Mattsun and Makki can’t take him, you know that.”

Aki-chan... the kid from the night Suga vanished.

To Daichi’s surprise, Yahaba accepted with no further complaint, a set expression on his face, but he gripped Kyoutani’s hand. “We’re needed here,” he murmured. “Not there.”

There. There. They kept talking about ‘there’. Somewhere not everyone could go. Where Iwaizumi was loathe to take anyone. Where Oikawa was, and Suga probably was.

_‘Save him.’_

Where he had to go.

“Oi!  Where’s there?”

They stopped arguing amongst themselves, all eyes swivelled to Daichi. Yahaba satisfied, Kyoutani resigned, Matsukawa knowing, Hanamaki assessing and finally Iwaizumi holding his gaze the longest, an internal debate raging. Finally, he let out a breath, breaking the contact, and stepped towards him.

“’There’ is Hell,” he said. “Literally.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's hotting up now - perhaps not literally - so get ready for Hell. 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who's reading - next chapter tomorrow.


	4. find light in the beautiful sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi's journey to save Suga begins.
> 
> And more familiar faces appear.

“Hell’s the name of another club,” Daichi said. “This is some kind of turf war thing, right?”

They were walking out of the club and along the street, Iwaizumi taking the lead, with Daichi at his heels along with Kyoutani.

“Fuck this!” Kyoutani muffled his exclamation into his sleeve, seemingly tempered with Iwaizumi there.

Daichi posed the questions knowing they were wrong. Nothing since he’d arrived in the city had followed any kind of expectation, so why shouldn’t this bend his reality?

“The underworld,” Iwaizumi stated, and then rolled his eyes. “Hades. Yomi, whatever you call it. The realm of the dead.”

He stopped by a black van, reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, unlocking the door.

The child from twelve nights ago sat huddled, knees to his chest his eyes widening when he saw the three of them. “Where’s Oikawa-san?” he asked, staring up at Iwaizumi.

“Not here yet, Akira-kun,” Iwaizumi murmured. “I need you to stay with Kyoutani and Yahaba for a bit, okay?”

“You’ll bring him?”

“Yeah,” he replied and ruffled his hair before helping him out the van. “Stay with Kyoutani-san. Stay in the club, and don’t leave it, okay. Not even if someone you know tells you to leave.”

“Not even Mattsun or Makki?”

“Especially not them,” Iwaizumi whispered, but it was loud enough for Daichi to hear.

Kyoutani took Akira’s hand, then with a backward wave he strode back to the club, half-dragging the reluctant boy. Akira looked back through his curtained hair and almost slumped as he walked, resigned yet clearly unhappy.

“You mean it, don’t you,” Daichi said quietly.

“Tooru’s in the underworld, and I’m pretty sure Koushi is too, or he’d have come back by now.”

“And I sent them there.”

“Unknowingly complicit,” Iwaizumi replied. His mouth was a thin line, determined, unrelenting. “Get in the van. I’ll drive and talk. You listen, then decide.”

“Decide?”

“If you want out.”

“I won’t.”

“I believe you. At least I believe you want to save Koushi, but when you hear what I have to say, I’m also not going to blame you for doing a runner.” He got in the van, waited for Daichi, then slammed his door shut. “Especially as Koushi is as good as dead.”

“No.”

Starting up the engine, Iwaizumi arched one eyebrow. “I have a lot of experience with Death, so forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Sawamura.”

Sitting back as they set off, Daichi waited for Iwaizumi to begin, but when he didn’t, he ventured a question instead. “Why did you tell that boy not to go with Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Don’t you trust them?”

“With my life,” Iwaizumi muttered, then scowled as a car suddenly pulled out, causing him to brake. “ASSHOLE!”

“Then...”

He switched his attention from the other driver back to Daichi. “Mattsun and Makki won’t try to lure him away, but imposters might.”

“And what’s so special about the kid?”

“What’s so special about anyone?” Iwaizumi replied. “We’re all unique. But ... uh ... Akira shouldn’t be here.”

“Where should he be?”

“Where I’m going now. Akira was in that gas explosion. He should be dead, and Death’s pretty pissed off about it.”

He spoke of Death as a person, not a something that happened – sometimes tragically, more often as the natural course of life. Daichi kept his face passive but his mind was leaping.

“Oikawa _said_ you were a doctor,” he murmured, slow, fishing for more information.

But Iwaizumi fixed him with half a grin, not entirely friendly and slowed as they reached a set of lights. “He didn’t. Tooru’s not going to say that. I don’t cure people. I can’t treat them.”

“Then what do you mean?”

A beat later, the lights changed. “I wrestle Death,” Iwaizumi replied.

“Uh ... what?”

“Yeah, you heard right.”

“Okay, so ... uh ... where does this happen? On TV?  Do you charge people to watch? Is it a spectator sport? Part of the WWF?” He could hear the laughter – hysteria – in his voice as he suddenly realised how preposterous this all was, and it struck him then that he’d have preferred the extortion option because that way at least, he’d know this was real and he wasn’t taking a trip with a madman who’d also stolen a child from a hospital.

“I’m not a kidnapper,” Iwaizumi said mildly. The lights changed and he revved the engine. “Akira’s safe.”

“You took him from the hospital,” Daichi spluttered, trying to suppress the realisation that Iwaizumi – just as Oikawa had appeared to do - had read his mind.

“To keep him alive.” He rubbed his lips together. “The hospital and the authorities know, by the way, so that media story about Akira going missing is bullshit.”

“They allowed you to take him?”

“Faced with proof of guardianship, and a desperate need for beds, they didn’t argue,” he replied vaguely, then sniffed. “Sawamura, it looks bad, I know, but if Tooru hadn’t disappeared then all of this would be legitimate. As it is, I need to keep Akira safe until Tooru returns, or he’ll fucking kill me.”

“Safe from Death?”  He emphasised making quote marks with his fingers.

“Mockery won’t get you rat shit,” Iwaizumi said. He slowed the van, easing up behind a lorry. “If you want to leave now, then do.”

“Sorry. I’m finding this hard to process.” He tried a smile, hoping Iwaizumi would reciprocate, but instead he kept his eyes firmly in front. “None of it makes sense.”

“If you stare at a picture or a word for too long, don’t you feel it changing as you look?” Iwaizumi tried to explain. “After a while nothing makes sense.” He cleared his throat, then flicked a look at Daichi. “Think of it this way, if you look for too long, then a picture starts to blur as its reality smudges, so you’re left wondering where the image starts and ends, or whether you’re part of the picture to another viewer.”

“A dancer becomes the dance,” Daichi muttered, adding when Iwaizumi shot him a puzzled side glance. “Reminds me of Suga.” He took in a heavy breath. “Okay, I saw Suga vanish in front of me, and a house with its occupants, and then you, so I’m going along with your explanation. You wrestle Death. I don’t know why, or how someone gets into that line of work, but if you say they’re in the underworld, then I accept you know what you’re talking about. One thing though, how do you know where Oikawa-san is? Or if Suga’s there.”

Iwaizumi held up his hand, scissoring two of his fingers and grimacing. “We have a connection. Tooru calls it ‘perfect trust’ and as much as I yell at him that it’s crap, I agree. I know where he is. It’s not telepathy. He’s not speaking to me, but he’s there. I can sense it.”

“And Suga?”

“That I don’t know. But you’re convinced Suga’s alive, so I’m going with my gut that Tooru’s not going anywhere without him.” The traffic started to move again, Iwaizumi turned left into a side road, speeding up as they left the congestion behind. “I need to know about you and Suga. How you met, the voice you heard, that sort of thing. I need knowledge to give us the edge, okay?”

Accepting, Daichi began to speak. He started from the party, the way he’d been drawn inside by the music, had seen Oikawa dance and then been blinded by the silvered light that was Suga. He spoke quickly, trying to cram every moment of that night into the time, but skipped his feelings, skipped the desire he’d felt mounting inside of him.

“And the woman? The one in the dragon dress?”

“Blond choppy hair. I’d not seen her before, and no one else paid her any attention, which surprised me because she stood out. She wasn’t in costume for one thing.”

“Was it her voice you heard?”

“Uh ... yeah.” He blinked. “It was. I hadn’t realised before, but it’s her voice now. She’s still talking to me. I heard her in the hospital. I heard her...” His mouth dropped open. “I heard her on the train. I thought it was the wind, or someone in the carriage, but it was her. How did I not realise?”

“Mind plays tricks,” Iwaizumi said. “Or rather it tries to make sense of the nonsensical. It’s that picture blurring again. When was this train journey? Was it on the way to the party?”

Shaking his head, Daichi stared out of the window, watching as the scenery changed from grey concrete-block houses to a winding road and the greener spaces of suburbia.

“March,” he said at last. “I was travelling to the city. I’d been travelling all day and was almost falling asleep.”

“Twenty-first?”

“Uh... yeah, how did you know?”

“It fits,” he muttered, slowing at the crossroads, taking a left turn. “Has Suga told you how we met him?”

“Hospital.” As if on cue, the image of Suga and the one night together flashed into his head. His hands across Suga’s ski, his lips smoothing a path to Suga’s capitulation. Satin soft, unblemished perfection. Daichi gasped.  “He said he had appendicitis.”

“But?”

“No scar. What really happened?”

“There was a crash – a lorry overturned and Suga was injured. He’d hitched a lift with the driver.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He was touched by death - that scares him. You must have seen how he lives.”

_Sunshine and laughter. Dancing and joy._

“So you saved him.”

“Mmm, but there was something off about it. Usually _I_ get a sense who to save, but this came from Tooru. He was adamant I had to do something.”  He drove a little further up the road, finally drawing up outside a large house. “Death’s not happy we interfered.”

They sat in silence, Iwaizumi clearly realising that Daichi needed time to process everything he’d learnt. Although fantastical, it explained so much. Not just the disappearance, but Suga’s ‘imprisonment’, his reliance on Tooru, his very real need to live, to enjoy life, to take a chance and experience what he could, but within a permitted framework.

“He thought he was running out of time,” Daichi guessed out loud, remembering how Suga had approached him, from the fingers entwined in his, the dance and the kiss, his apologies that he was taking this fast. “How much did he know?”

“Probably more than we realised. Tooru didn’t want him to live in fear, so didn’t talk to him about it, but Suga complied with the way we lived, and the restrictions Tooru asked of him. It wouldn’t have been forever.” He clicked his tongue, then unlatched the door on his side, swinging his legs out. “Come on, we’re here,” he said, banging on the van roof.

Daichi wasn’t entirely surprised that they were back at the Mansion. It was where it had begun for him, the place where the voice had been at its most insistent and where he’d fallen hard and fast for a wisp of silver.

The Mansion loomed before them, blinds drawn at each window, a bleak house transposed on a grey background. There was nothing of the vibrancy that Daichi remembered, even the trees had buckled under the weight of their summer leaves, shedding them early to carpet the grass in brown and orange.

“This is Hell?”

“The gateway is close,” Iwaizumi replied. Removing a bag from the van, he slung it over his shoulder and wandered up to the gate, peering through the wrought iron railings. “Locked but deserted. There’s a lower point in the wall round the back, we can shin over that.”

Within minutes they were in the grounds, Iwaizumi scaling the wall, then pulling Daichi up before both dropped to the loamy grass below. Inside, the gardens appeared more desolate, a scene better suited to the dead of winter than the slow decay of early autumn. It was colder too, and a mist swirled around them, a mist not present outside the estate.

“I thought Hell would be hotter than this,” Daichi tried to joke as he zipped up his hoodie.

“First thing,” Iwaizumi said, stopping in his tracks. He took hold of Daichi’s arm. “Most of the things you’ve heard about Hell, or have been brought up to believe, is gonna be wrong. It’s not on fire. The guy in charge doesn’t have horns sticking out of his head, and not that many people are in perpetual agony – just the purely evil and bad sitcom writers.”

“What?”

He laughed. “A joke. Justice is served. The underworld is where you move on. Only some people can’t, or don’t. And sometimes those in the Underworld want someone or something that they see up here, and they demand it. They have a shit job, so most of the time their requirements are met, but not always.”

“Requirements?”

“What do you think happened to the dodo? Perfect pet, and much better protected down there than up with us.”

“And Suga’s a ‘requirement’?” he demanded, outraged at Iwaizumi’s flippancy.

“Nope. Sugawara Koushi was supposed to die. I don’t mean Fate or stuff like that, but Death had him. I prevented him leaving and that upset the balance. Thing was, although I knew this was beyond my remit, I still stopped him leaving. There was something wrong about Suga dying right then. I can’t explain, but it was like he shouldn’t have been there, but something else had happened.” His eyes glistened, and he sniffed loudly, turning his head away from Daichi. “I don’t regret giving him another chance, but it’s left us vulnerable.”

“You’re worried about the boy?”

“Mmm, and Shigeru.”

“The club manager?”

“Yeah. Kyoutani saved him. Attacked Death in his dog form, took a bite and made Death loose its hold. Kyoutani’s not in Hell’s good books.”

“Which could be a problem when he dies.”

Iwaizumi laughed. An odd sound. Hollow and rasping, bitterness impinging on the edges. “You haven’t worked it out yet, have you, Sawamura?”

“Worked what out?”

“I would have thought the photographs of Tooru at the club would have given it away. We’re immortal. Oikawa, myself, Kyoutani, and Matsukawa– we can live forever.”

“Then... why is Oikawa missing?  Why couldn’t Kyoutani come with you if he can’t die?”

“We can live forever, but we’d kinda like to live without eternal torment.”

“And Hanamaki?”

“Mortal ... ish.”

“Ish?” he asked, wondering why he wasn’t more stunned.

“He died decades ago, but Mattsun made a bargain. Half his life for half of Makki’s. They live alternate days on earth, then return to the skies.”  He started to walk again, heading for a corner of the garden Daichi remembered before, the statue of Cupid looking forlorn without its party decor.  

“Is that why they didn’t vanish with the house?”

“Full marks. Stroke of midnight and they’d already left. It’s also why anyone that turns up tomorrow telling Akira or Yahaba to leave with them, is gonna be an imposter.”

“But why would they?  What’s so important that they’d need them back?”

“I told you. I upset the balance keeping Suga here. Death carries a sword and uses it to cut a tress of the person’s hair. I need to get a hold before the sword is drawn, but I didn’t in Suga’s case. So they kinda think I broke the rules and I’m not risking them trying to take the others back.” 

The grass was wet underfoot, moisture and mud squelching as Daichi walked. He shivered again, and rubbed his arms with his hands wishing Iwaizumi would walk faster to keep the energy up.

“Where are we heading for?”

“The boathouse, of course, there’s a river to cross, so how else d’you reckon we’re getting there?”

A boat. Despite Iwaizumi telling him to forget all his preconceptions, it was obvious that some things from the legends were true. He wondered what to expect. Would the boatman have a three-headed dog? Would he punt them across the river and expect money on Daichi’s tongue. Would they have to pretend to be dead, or would Iwaizumi’s muscles intimidate the guy into giving them a free trip?

Iwaizumi reached across, tugging on Daichi’s sleeve.

“What?”

He met his gaze. “Sawamura, once you step on this boat, you’re committed. You’re a mortal and there’s a chance - strong chance - you won’t come back – it honestly depends on the mood down here and picking the right moment. Tooru and I transgressed when we saved Suga. This is not your problem.”

Daichi released a breath through his teeth. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease, but something loosened in his throat and he felt lighter inside than he had all day.  “It is my problem,” he replied. “It was my fault.”

“You might die.”

“I have to take that risk,” Daichi murmured. He exhaled, threw his head back and stared at the sky. “It’s not just because there’s a voice urging me on, but – and I know this sounds melodramatic – I know I have to do this. I need Suga.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to come back?” Iwaizumi asked. He plucked Daichi’s sleeve, waiting until Daichi was looking at him before he continued. “Remember what I told you about your preconceptions. There’s one you’ve not considered, but Elysium exists, and Suga might prefer where he is – a life with no pain, just utter bliss.”

“But I’ve been told to save him.”

“Yeah, well, it’s possible that voice belongs to a ... I don’t like using the word, but in your terms, it could be a devil.”

“Are you telling me to leave?”

“No.” Iwaizumi squeezed Daichi’s shoulder. “I’m telling you to think carefully. No one is going to blame you for not chancing it. You’ve known Suga, what, a month? That’s hardly the basis for a relationship, let alone ending up in eternal torment.”

He heard a sound on the water, not the swish of oars sculling the surface as he’d imagined, or even a punt pushing a boat through the river, but rather a buzz and a splash. Jerking away from Iwaizumi, Daichi received yet another surprise, for far from an old longboat and a scary boatman, the vessel speeding towards them, coming to a halt and sending a wave of water into the air, was a yacht. Not just a yacht, but one with an engine, and instead of the crusty sailor, he’d thought would scowl and demand payment, the skipper at the helm was a woman – young, dressed in a uniform of blue and black, with long dark hair, sunglasses and a clip board held across her chest.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” she called out. “I was expecting you earlier. Come to pick up the idiot?”

“Shimizu-san, looking efficient as ever.”

“That’s the ferryman?” Daichi whispered. “But she’s –”

“Beautiful, yeah, but don’t talk about that. She has enough admirers and doesn’t handle compliments well. Make an idiot of yourself and she’ll not only whack you with her clipboard, but set you a pointless task of emptying the river with a sieve.” He turned back to Shimizu. “What’s the idiot done this time? Did he chat you up again?”

She smiled, and pushed her sunglasses off her face, replacing them with regular spectacles. “Not this time. He got into a fight and that pissed off the Chief. Tooru needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Like that will happen,” Iwaizumi laughed. He stepped forward to get on the boat, then as if it were an afterthought, he pulled Daichi with him, adding with studied casualness, “Friend of mine. He’s coming with me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Name?”

“Sawamura,” Daichi replied, clearing his throat in an attempt to stop the quiver in his voice.

“Not on my list,” she snapped. “And you’re not dead, so I’m not taking you.”

“Check again, will you?” Iwaizumi asked. His voice lilted, surprisingly soft, and Daichi watched as Shimizu’s lips parted, and her attention flicked back to the list.

“Yes, he’s-” She blinked furiously. “No, he’s not there. Don’t try your damn tricks with me.”

“Sorry.” Iwaizumi huffed out his cheeks. “Look, it’s a favour, please. I’m not just here for Tooru.”

“Let me guess,” she muttered, her eyes flashing. “You want Sugawara back.”

“Got it in one.”

“From what I hear, Death has a perfect right to him. Sugawara wasn’t yours to save, Hajime.”

“You’re probably right, but ... uh ... this guy thinks different.”

“The Living always do,” she said dismissively. But she peered closer, looking Daichi up and down in a very disconcerting way, before finally settling on his face. “Think you can take on Death, do you?”

“Nah, that’s my job. Sawamura wants to speak to the Chief instead.”

“An audience, huh? Are you a Persuader, Sawamura-san?”

“Uh.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Shimizu chewed her lip. Her pen was still in her hand, not adding him, but not yet denying him admittance.  “Hitoka-chan,” she said, raising her voice. “What do you reckon?”

A girl appeared. Wearing a plain beige tunic dropping straight to her knees, the only colour was provided by the blonde hair clipped with an array of sparkly slides. The hesitant expression on her face rendered her more vulnerable than the redoubtable Shimizu, but for all that she couldn’t have been much older than sixteen. She was paler than Shimizu, greyer even, the touch of death still upon her – clearly not an immortal. And Daichi’s immediate reaction was sadness that she must have died so young, but she was smiling, and as she approached, the pallor of her face flushed the tiniest bit pink.

“You want me for something, Shimizu-san?” She tilted her head to the side, then smiled widely. “Iwaizumi-san, I hoped we’d see you.”

“Hey, Yachi-kun, Tooru being a pain, is he?”

“Uh, not r-really,” she stuttered, flushing even more and suddenly finding something very interesting on the boat floor. “He’s kinda loud, but no trouble really.”

Daichi saw Iwaizumi raise his eyebrows at her remark, but he said nothing. He was frowning, clearly trying to work out exactly what situation Oikawa had landed himself in, then he gestured to Daichi with his head.

Yachi stared up at Daichi, then turned her gaze to Shimizu. “He’s alive.”

“Mmm, and no permission, either. What do you think?”

“Um ...” She started to bite her nail, hopping from foot to foot, a move that caused the boat to bob up and down. “Why?”

“Answer my assistant please,” Shimizu said, her tone of voice making the ‘please’ negligible.

“Rescue mission,” Daichi muttered. Aware of Iwaizumi’s intent stare and Shimizu’s scepticism, he focused on Yachi, who was at least smiling, prepared to listen and maybe give him a chance. “My boyfriend - it’s my fault he’s here, and ... uh ... I love him and want him back.”

“His name?” Yachi trilled.

“Sugawara Koushi,” Daichi supplied. “He’s got silver blond hair, a sunshine smile and a mole-”

“Under his eye,” she finished. Her mouth dropped, in fact her whole aspect visibly drooped in front of him. “You’re the guy, huh?”

“Pardon?”

“Sugawara-san’s not accepted -”

“Yachi,” Shimizu warned. “We’re not allowed to give out information.”

She shuffled her feet. “What’s your name?” she mumbled.

“Sawamura Daichi,” he supplied.

With a sigh, Yachi flopped down on the boat, splaying her knees as she crossed her legs at the ankles. She gazed at Daichi, then back to Shimizu before finally nodding. “I vote we let him cross.”

Shimizu stood to the side, waving them both onto the boat. And Daichi felt lighter than he had since he’d arrived. This was easy. A boat across a river to fetch Suga back, and he’d passed the first hurdle, simply by saying he loved him.

“Don’t get complacent! You’ll have to do better than that when we meet the Chief,” Iwaizumi muttered, leaning into him as they sat. “Yachi must be a soft touch ‘cause your pleading skills are fucking shite.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Daichi retorted.

“You want his life back, not a date, okay?” Iwaizumi said, and gripped Daichi’s hand. “Shape up, or neither of you will make it out alive.”

Chastened, Daichi stared out across the river. Iwaizumi had lessened his grip, but he could still feel where his fingers had dug in. There was no doubting his strength. It wasn’t just physical either. As they travelled across the water, Daichi began to sense again the mental strength of the guy. A man who literally stared Death in the face and defied him.

Or her.

Iwaizumi hadn’t given Death a gender. Daichi wasn’t sure he wanted or needed to know.

“What’s the Chief like?” he asked instead.

“Irascible. Got a temper on him, which he tries to keep in check, not always successfully. If he’s in the right frame of mind, he’ll give you a decent hearing.” He paused as the boat veered round a bend, water spraying over them. “He’s fair, I’ll say that, but ... uh ... that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll rule in your favour. Or that the price is something you’ll want to pay.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“He’ll want something in return. There’s an equivalence at stake here.”

“Like what?”

“Depends what you have to offer. Sawamura-kun, I can’t fight Death for someone already dead. And if Tooru’s not been successful, then it means one of two things – either it’s down to you, or Suga’s lost for good.”

 

The boat sped on, twisting along the centre of the river. As they fell into silence, Daichi stared out across the water. It was getting darker, not the dusk of the day as the sky behind them still looked bright, but the path before them. And the water, which had been clear, was blackening to pitch. It sparkled still, but rather like the jet of onyx. Tiny fireflies stippled the water, like diamonds on velvet, a sight that should have awed him with its contrast and beauty. Yet as he stared intently down into the river, Daichi shivered, feeling an air of malevolence that chilled him to his core.

“Look ahead or up,” Iwaizumi said mildly. “And let me know if the pull gets too much. I can always tether you to the railings to stop you jumping.”

“Pull?” Daichi shook his head. “More like revulsion.”

“Interesting,” Iwaizumi murmured. “You’re very tethered to life, Sawamura.”

There was a cave ahead, but instead of slowing down, Shimizu sped up. Iwaizumi scowled a little, muttering in an aside to Daichi that usually they’d have to pay another toll so they could enter.

“I’m guessing,” he continued under his breath as Shimizu steered them through the rocks and into the mouth of the cave, “that the guard has either been assigned somewhere else or he’s pissed someone off.” He grinned then raised his voice. “Shimizu-san, what’s happened to Tanaka?”

“Tanaka’s still with the Chief, helping deal with the usual issues. Which reminds me, Oikawa-san really needs to pick his moments to visit. It’s always busy this time of year – especially in the first week.”

Daichi waited for someone to explain, but whoever Tanaka was and whatever issues he was dealing with, remained a mystery at least for the moment. Iwaizumi stretched out, but although he closed his eyes, the twitch of his hand every time the boat altered its course, proved how alert he was to their surroundings.

Feeling cramped and restless, Daichi rolled his shoulders, then slowly got to his feet. As no one objected, he wandered to the back of the boat, staring at the boat’s wake.

_‘Save him.’_

“I’m trying,” he murmured.

“Pardon?”

Swallowing, he looked down seeing Yachi had joined him. She was holding two mugs, both containing a steaming liquid, one of which she held out to him.

“Uh...”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi yelled, lifting up his own mug. “We’re not there yet, so you can drink that. In fact you should, as it’s about to get cold.”

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the mug.  He expected Yachi to leave after that, she was clearly not comfortable around strangers, but although she was rubbing her palm on the side of her dress, she stayed where she was and blinked up at him.

With Shimizu talking to Iwaizumi, he didn’t think he’d have a better chance to talk, so he gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile (she looked a bit startled but did grin back). “Do you mind telling me why you accepted me on the boat?”

“Um, I’m not sure I should.”

“Please,” he entreated. “If I am to win Sugawara-kun back, I need to know why you were persuaded.”

“I don’t know if I want him to leave, though,” she said, and tilted her head to the side. “Shimizu thinks we shouldn’t help you.”

“But you have,” he murmured.

She was staring at him, clearly assessing, and for all her nerves, he felt a strength about her, and a sincerity shining through her eyes.

“What was it I said that convinced you?” he tried again.

She shook her head. “It was nothing you said. I was the first person Suga-san saw when he entered the underworld. I attended him. He was in a deep sleep for a day and a night, but I was there when he woke and the first thing he said was a name – your name.” She shrugged, but the effect looked fake, and the way she fiddled with her hair belied the nonchalance. “That’s all.”

“You said you didn’t want him to leave,” he said tentatively.

 “No one does.” It was Shimizu replying, her tone soft yet steely.  “Sawamura-san, you won’t have any allies here. At the best of times, the Chief’s loathe to release a soul, but Sugawara’s endeared himself to us. We’re attached to him.”

“Bollocks! He’s been here less that a fortnight!” Iwaizumi protested. “And he does have allies. Me and Tooru, for a start.”

 _And whoever keeps urging me to save him,_ Daichi thought.

“I’d hate him to go. He’s so full of love and life,” Yachi breathed.

“Which is a valuable commodity down here,” Shimizu explained drily. “Even Death’s been smiling.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Iwaizumi said, snorting. “His face would crack.”

“He says the same about you,” Shimizu countered, laughing. She slowed the boat, letting it scud across the river and she peered to the side, her eyes scanning. “Okay, guys, Aone-kun’s on the lookout, so finish your drinks.”

Sipping, Daichi nearly spat out the liquid. It wasn’t that it tasted bad, but it was spicy and sweet, too sickly for his tastes and with a kick that left him gasping.

“You need to drink it all,” Iwaizumi warned. “Or you won’t make it past this stage.”

“Why?”

“The next guard, Aone-kun, blocks everyone unless they’re prepared.”

He peered ahead at the left hand bank. Through the gloom, he could just make out a figure. Tall and broad with white-blond hair, he was dressed in a grey robe, his arms folded across his chest. Daichi stiffened, then feeling a chill shiver through him, complied with Iwaizumi’s advice and began to drink. Instantly the cold left him and he breathed easier. The boat picked up its pace – just a little – causing a ripple of waves that lapped the shoreline at Aone’s feet. He looked up from the contemplation of the ground, saw who approached, and then raised his arm.

He pointed, that was all, first alighting on Iwaizumi before switching and settling to Daichi. There was no smile, and no scowl, either, just the grim determination of a man with a task he’d been entrusted with. Someone who took pride in his work, and valued his duty over any excuse Daichi might plead.

His fingers began to tingle, cold seeping through, and he knew he had to keep sipping the drink, but such was the man’s holding gaze, Daichi felt powerless to move.

“Drink!” Iwaizumi cried.

“I’m trying.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” chirped another voice.

Male, light-hearted, but also with an edge.  And the chill in Daichi’s body seeped further inward, almost to his bones.

The boat was creeping along now, almost at drifting pace – it seemed even the ice-cold Shimizu was affected by the monolith on the bank. Daichi scanned the shore again, wondering where the new voice was coming from. On a rock behind Aone perched a man. He was a little slighter, but still had an imposing presence, not in the same intimidatory manner, but the rather laissez-faire attitude and the half smile on his face.

“Hey, Hajime, how’s Death treating ya?”

“Fuck that’s all we need,” Iwaizumi muttered. He grimaced, then swigging down the rest of his drink, he raised his hand. “Pretty good, Futakuchi-kun. How about you?”

“Ah, it’s been a blast recently. Tooru always makes me laugh, especially when he doesn’t mean to,” the man replied. “You going to introduce me? Preferably before your friend transforms into an ice cube.”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes, just for a second, then stepped across to Daichi. Putting his hand under the mug, he forced it to Daichi’s lips. “Drink. Now,” he ordered.

“Aww, Hajime, you’re no fun!”

“He’s one of the Living,” Iwaizumi shouted, forcing more of the drink between Daichi’s lips. “A mortal.”

“Yeah, I’m not dumb,” Futakuchi replied, and leapt from his rock to stand by Aone’s side. Although shorter, he gave the impression of being just as powerful, and maybe in charge.

Daichi’s tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. As each drop of drink made it down his throat, he could feel the shards of frost leave his heart. Warmth flooded through him, and even the knots in his shoulders dissolved under the drink’s influence.

“You got a name then?” Futakuchi asked, a smirk on his lips.

When Iwaizumi didn’t reply, or give any kind of cue, Daichi planted his feet firmly on the deck, curling up his toes, and met Futakuchi’s gaze. “Sawamura Daichi,” he declared.

Aone faltered. His arm definitely dropped, before he straightened it again and redoubled the intensity of his stare. To Daichi’s surprise, and the surprise of everyone on the boat as Yachi dropped her mug, Iwaizumi clutched Daichi’s arm, and Shimizu veered off course, Futakuchi lifted his hand and pulled Aone’s arm back to his side.

“You can pass,” he said neutrally.

“Really?”  It was Shimizu who spoke, still not steering properly, she wrenched at the wheel to stop them bumping into the bank.

“Yeah, he’s expected,” Futakuchi replied. He plodded back to his rock. “I knew this day wouldn’t be fun.”

“Who’s expecting him?” Iwaizumi asked. “The Chief?  Death?”

“Not them,” Futakuchi said. He shrugged. “You’ll find out when you get there. “Now get going, Kiyoko-chan, or I’ll forget my orders and claim this guy anyway.”

Back in control, she manoeuvred to the centre of the river, yelling back, “It’s Shimizu-san to you!” Sighing she shook her head and turned to Iwaizumi. “That guy is as annoying as Oikawa used to be.”

“Did you do something to Tooru to stop him returning to the surface?” Iwaizumi asked.

“Not me,” she retorted. “He got himself into a mess.”

They travelled for a while longer, but made no more stops. Along the way, Daichi saw several more figures he assumed were guards, but although Shimizu slowed down, they all waved her through.

“They’ve been advised,” Iwaizumi guessed. “Makes it easier, but on the other hand, it does mean we’re being hurried towards the meeting. Suga must be important.” Frowning, he studied Shimizu for a while before speaking again. “I didn’t think the Chief would pull strings for us, ‘specially not at this time.”

“Maybe Oikawa’s persuaded him,” Shimizu replied, also frowning as she considered.

“Or it’s not the Chief at all,” Yachi piped up, then blushed at the boldness of her suggestion. “I mean, it could, kind of ... um ... be someone else, couldn’t it? “

“Theoretically, I suppose,” Iwaizumi pondered. “Don’t know why, though.”

Wondering if anyone was going to explain, Daichi was about to demand an explanation, when Yachi jumped to her feet, pointing ahead.

“We’re here!” she yelped. Her face was wreathed with smiles, only faltering when she took in Daichi, and even then she gave him a soft beam. “Don’t worry. It’s not nearly as scary as everyone believes.”

There were twinkling lights in front of them, lights that as they got closer formed faint strings outlining an arch. Daichi watched in awe as their boat slipped through the other side of the arch and he found himself in a place no longer gloomy and dank, but lit with sparkling lights far brighter than any stars. Silvered light filtering through touched the surroundings, highlighting – to Daichi’s surprise – trees and brickwork. A low garden wall encircling a cultivated garden, glimmering in the soft metallic beams. There was nothing bright here, but colours existed, muted as if part of an old painting with discoloured varnish. 

“How ... how does this exist?” he asked, agape at the sight.

“Just ‘cause someone ceases their life above, it doesn’t mean their knowledge dies too,” Iwaizumi replied. “Some of them stay and still want to create.” He coughed. “Not what you expected, right?”

“You told me to forget my preconceptions, but ... uh ... I imagined hell fires or ... greyness.  This is ...” He trailed off, perusing the view, catching sight of a bird in the tree singing into the dark, emitting a pale gold light with every note. “It’s serene.”

“Not all the time,” Shimizu said.  “But we like it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matsukawa and Hanamaki's story is loosely based on castor and Pollux, although they're not twins, brothers, or related in any way. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you;re enjoying the story as it's a bit of a departure from my usual stories.


	5. eye to eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi comes face to face with Death ... whoever that is.

Shimizu pulled up at a wooden jetty a short way after passing the walled garden. Waving away Iwaizumi’s thanks and promises to return the favour with the minutest of smiles, she let them leave after ordering Yachi to disembark, too, and pick up more supplies.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” Iwaizumi called, grinning at her.

“An old joke, Iwaizume,” she said glaring, “but some of us have a job to do, and taking you and Sawamura downstream hasn’t helped my quota.”

“At least with the guards gone, it’ll be an easier journey next time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, Tanaka will be back and twice as loud. He’ll be extra vigilant, and it’ll take the next departed _twice_ as long to get past.”

They moved on, Daichi giving her a bow and more apologies for causing the upset.

He chewed his lip, wondering about the guards.

“Where do the departed go?” he asked at last. “Don’t they all come here?”

“Barely anyone gets this far,” Iwaizumi replied. “Most stop along the way.”

“Why?”

“Um ...well ... it d-depends what kind of person they were, and what type of soul they’ll be,” Yachi said when Iwaizumi didn’t answer. “Tanaka-san likes the loud and brave souls, so he challenges them. If they lose, then they have to stay. Not everyone accepts the challenge, mind you.”

“You didn’t then?” Daichi asked, smiling down at her.

She faltered, her steps becoming more of a hop as she chewed her hair. “They didn’t challenge me. I’m not loud or brave or anything in particular. Aone and Futakuchi waved me through, too. Not really sure they actually saw me.”

“So where did you end up?”

“Me?” she asked, now flustered. “I kinda didn’t. Shimizu-san took me to the Chief because she assumed the council would have to make a decision about me, but as I got there, she changed her mind.”

“And now?”

“This and that. I help on the boat,” she said. “She’s training me, and I look after some of the new arrivals.”

It sounded sad, even though she was smiling; a life lived in the shadows, for although there was colour, it was splashes and moments, not ever-present, the blacks and greys all encompassing.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she whispered.

“I...” He trailed off, stopping the denial as it bit his lip, and smiled ruefully. “Don’t you mind though? Being here instead of alive and in the world above.”

“Sometimes,” she replied. “I’d like ice cream again, or going for a walk on a sunny day. I liked the beach, too, which we don’t have here, but –” She paused, her eyes sliding back to Shimizu’s boat. “- there are compensations and I’d miss more if I’d been returned.”

Spying a rough looking hut, she skipped away, telling Daichi this was where she needed to be. “Good luck,” she trilled, waving. “I hope it works out for you, whatever happens.”

Daichi watched her go, unable to reconcile her wide smile and crinkling eyes with the fact of where they were. “She’s so young. Is she really that happy to be here?”

“Not everyone can or wants to be saved,” Iwaizumi murmured. “One of the first things I learnt. The second is that death like life is rarely fair. You just have to hold on and hope it evens itself out.”

They walked in silence after that. Daichi wanted to ask more, but couldn’t think of the words. It was still ‘not life’, but rather a diamond in the rough, unpolished, uncut, its existence waiting for someone to appreciate.

“You get to save people, though,” Daichi began again, and heaved in a sigh. “What if I’m too late for Suga?”

“Saving’s the easy bit,” Iwaizumi said and touched Daichi on the shoulder. “It’s living with the consequences.”

“You’ve given that kid a second chance, and Suga.”

“But because of the circumstances, Suga had to stay inside at night unless I was there to protect him. We had no idea how long that would be for, and I couldn’t guard him indefinitely, not when there are others Tooru and I have to take care of.”

“Akira?”

“Yeah, and there’s another kid who was in the explosion. He’s not in immediate danger, though, so I might not even be needed. But he’s friends with Akira, and neither have family.”

The path was uneven, a mix of earth and cobblestones, leaving Daichi unsure of his steps. Iwaizumi ploughed on, taking larger strides until he stopped at a fork, waiting for him to catch up.

“Which way?” Daichi asked, when Iwaizumi didn’t move.

“That’s what I’m wondering. What we need to do is see the Chief, but whether he’s in council, or otherwise occupied,” (for a second Daichi could have sworn Iwaizumi was smirking) “I’m not sure.” He looked down both paths, deliberating, but whether he could see anything in the blackness, Daichi had no idea.

And then they heard it. A scream rent the air, startling both with its shrillness and outrage. Daichi jumped, for the ferocity that followed, the bellowing yell that thundered towards them, caused the earth around them to tremble.

“Fuck that’s Tooru!” Iwaizumi yelled, and without waiting for Daichi he shot off down the right hand path. “Come on!”

“But is that where the Chief is?”

“Fuck knows, but we need to get to Tooru before he makes everything worse.”

“WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I’LL MAKE YOU SUFFER!” they heard.

“Tooru, keep a clear head, you dumbass!” Iwaizumi seethed.

“I cannot suffer. It is physically impossible for me to feel anything resembling pain,” the other voice, the deeper voice, the-altogether-much-calmer voice was saying.

“I’LL WORK OUT A WAY!” Tooru yelled. “WHEN IWA-CHAN GETS HERE, HE’LL SORT YOU OUT ... AGAIN!”

Whoever it was appeared a little disconcerted by Oikawa’s assertion, for he didn’t reply immediately. In that time, Iwaizumi sped up, leaving Daichi running fit to burst as he tried not to lose touch.

“Iwaizumi is not here though,” Oikawa’s antagonist rumbled. “So there isn’t anything he can possibly do.”

“Keep it together, Tooru, you idiot!” Iwaizumi puffed and lifted his hands to his head. He slowed down, screwed up his eyes in concentration. And as he did, Daichi stopped by his side and waited.

He heard a laugh, it was Oikawa’s lilting through the dank air.

“Why are you laughing?” boomed the other person.

“Because you’ll be crying very soon, you obtuse lunk of wood!”

“Yeah, yeah, antagonise him, dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned. “He’s such a twat. I tell him not to do something, to hold on, and he bloody well makes it worse.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m close, alright! Physically, I mean,” Iwaizumi snarled, and splayed his palms as if juggling. “There’s a connection between us.”

“The perfect trust thing,” Daichi remembered.

“No fucking way,” Iwaizumi spluttered. “Just sometimes, occasionally, like once a century, he clears his fucking mind for long enough and I can get through his thick self-obsessed brain!”

He charged up the path after that, and Daichi trusting Iwaizumi knew what he was doing, ran after him, no longer worried about cobbles and the uneven ground. The path meandered down as it plunged deeper into the earth, and he knew it was reckless to keep up this pace, but Iwaizumi wasn’t slowing, spurred on by Oikawa’s indignant squawks. Daichi could hear his alternate breaths and curses in time with his strides.

_Hold on, Suga. We’ll find you._

He listened for the voice in his head, tried to attune his thoughts, hoping he’d hear her assurances that he was on the right track, but as they ran ever onwards the only sounds were his breath, Iwaizumi’s and the persistent arguing of Oikawa and whoever he was attacking.

There was light ahead. A narrow shaft at first, like Micchan’s spotlight, but as they ran, it widened, crystal white illuminating a stark room in front of them.

At least Daichi assumed it was a room. All he could see were granite grey pillars, an expanse of dark marble floor, and large stone steps narrowing as they reached the top.

Iwaizumi slowed a little, catching his breath as he clutched Daichi’s arm. “Hold on.”

“Where’s Oikawa?”

“That’s the council chamber,” he wheezed. “Tooru’s there. And from what I can sense, he’s not left there since he first appeared.”

He huffed out, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. Daichi followed suit, hoping the stitch in his side would go and his heart would stop bouncing off his ribcage.

“Is Suga there?”

“Can’t tell, but didn’t Yachi-kun tell you she’d looked after him when he first woke?” Daichi nodded. “Good, so I’m guessing he was in the Infirmary.”

“Infirmary,” Daichi deadpanned. “Uh... why is that necessary if someone’s dead?”

“Not everyone here is a departed soul. Some, like Shimizu and Tanaka, are immortal. Immortality doesn’t mean invulnerability.” He panted a little more, then straightened up. “Cheer up. If Suga was taken there, then it must mean he wasn’t dead when he arrived.”

“And now?”

“We’ll soon find out,” he said grimly.

“I WILL GET YOU BACK FOR THIS! JUST SEE IF I DON’T!”

“Gods, he’s started again,” Iwaizumi groaned. He cupped his hands round his mouth. “OIKAWA, SHUT UP! I’M HERE NOW!”

 “Who is he yelling at? Is that the Chief you keep talking about?”

“Ah, no. Up there’s the one guy he’s never been able to beat. At least, he can’t by himself. With me, Kyoutani and Mattsun he has a chance, which is kind of why we do what we do.” He placed his foot on the first step, the conversation seemingly over, but then he looked back over his shoulder, and held out his hand to pull Daichi with him. “Oikawa’s arguing with a minor deity called Ushijima.”

“Ushijima?”

“Otherwise known as Death.”

 

Daichi tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. He shook off the chill now seeping through him sure it was a reaction to the news, but even knowing it was psychosomatic, didn’t stop him wishing he had some of the sickly sweet drink from earlier. Death was close. Death was currently arguing with Daichi’s best hope of seeing Suga again, and Death didn’t seem to be at all perturbed that the man who frequently wrestled him was about to pound up the stairs after him.

_A god ... and he said he felt no pain. What chance do I have?_

Iwaizumi gripped his hand. It felt warm and strong. Tugging Daichi closer, he said nothing, but there was a softening around the grim set to his mouth. _Are you ready?_   he seemed to be saying.

There was no turning back, nowhere else to go. He took a breath, nodded once then tore up the stone steps with this most unlikely of allies.

As they reached the summit, Daichi’s first thought was how blinding the light was up here. Cold, too. There was none of the warmth of the sun, or even the muted silver of moonbeams, but clear white shards sharpening everything around them.  He looked around for the lamps, for any cables and switches that powered the light source, but instead of electricity or even fire all he could see were dark earth walls studded with stones.

Diamonds. Not the rough ones, either, but cut and polished, sparkling with a vibrant clarity he’d never seen not even on the hottest days above, with the sun at its highest and nary a cloud in sight.

He screwed up his eyes, viewing the space through his lashes before he accustomed himself to the light.

Oikawa was sitting in a chair. Or rather a throne, alongside two other, taller thrones. The tallest of these was made of granite, the other of a honeyed wood, polished to a fine finish and a red velvet cushion edged in yellow braid at an angle on the seat. And to the side was an oval table, covered with a shiny black cloth that hung over its sides and flittered a little – although Daichi couldn’t feel a breeze swirling at his feet. He looked back to Oikawa’s throne - metallic, gold perhaps, with gems adorning it.  Daichi snorted to himself, not entirely surprised that he’d chosen the most expensive looking to sit in.

“Why?” Iwaizumi despaired, striding over to him, his arm outstretched.

“I was tricked, all right!” Oikawa yelled back and jabbed to the figure standing behind the granite throne. “It’s his fault.”

He was taller, much taller than Daichi and Iwaizumi, his shoulders broad and an intensely serious expression. Grave, Daichi thought, and kicked himself for the pun, for this was surely Death he was facing.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi raised a hand to the figure. “Hey, Ushijima-san, how are things?”

“Things?” He sounded puzzled, his voice low and a lot less booming when faced with friendliness. “They’re good.”

An oddly familiar voice, too, although staring at him, Daichi didn’t recognise the man at all. _Trick of the mind_ , he told himself. _I want to believe I know him in case that gives me an edge._

“So, do you mind telling me just how you got Tooru to sit in the chair?”

And it struck Daichi then, as he watched the strange tableau unfold before him, that Oikawa hadn’t moved. Well, he’d wriggled a bit in the chair, but he’d not made to stand up, to fly into Iwaizumi’s arms, and didn’t look as if he was about to take on or had tackled Ushijima at all.

Daichi suppressed a grin. _He’s still wearing his pyjamas,_ he thought, noticing the dark blue silk jacket spotted with stars and planets.

“He sat down.” Ushijima shrugged. “I thought he knew.”

“He does,” Iwaizumi said and sighed.

“Do you mind?” Oikawa yelled. “I am here, you know. And why have you taken so long? It’s been weeks!”

“Under two, actually. And, I’ve ... uh ... been attending to ‘things’,” Iwaizumi answered, loading the last word with lead.

Oikawa was about to snap back, but took the implication and took a breath instead. It seemed to soften him, and he stretched out his fingers, wriggling them in an approximation of a wave. “Well, here I am then. Stuck.”

“Yeah, so I can see. Why did you sit there?”

“I was exhausted,” Oikawa complained. “I’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, landed in Hell, and –” He stopped speaking as Ushijima growled. “Oh, stop it, if I want to call it Hell then I will. I’ve had a _hellish_ time since arriving so why not.” He blinked. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me why you sat down?”

“Ah yes, well I landed here, and was screaming the place down. No one was awake, can you believe that, and I was desperate to see where Koushi was and-”

“You didn’t see Suga, then,” Daichi interjected, hurrying forwards.

“Not at –”Oikawa began, then stopped – astounded. His voice returned to the shrillness of before. “What is _he_ doing here? Iwa-chan, banish him immediately. He’s the reason Koushi was taken. I wouldn’t put it past him to be one of _His_ minions and this whole thing was a set up to not only snatch Koushi, but prevent me from leaving!”

He writhed on the chair, his face purple with outrage and exertion, but no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t get up and the more he tried to move the more restricted his movements became. “Godsdammit, Iwa-chan, get rid of him!”

“Nope, we need him.” Iwaizumi stood before him, hands on his hips as he assessed the situation. “Stop bellyaching, you’re getting yourself into more of a mess.”

“But he was there!” Oikawa protested. “Or are you going to deny that, Sawamura?”

“I’m not denying anything,” Daichi said, trying to keep calm. “And yes, from what I’ve been told it’s my fault because I left the gate open and I saw Suga enveloped by black. And then he vanished.” The sudden memory flooded back with the force of an exploded dam, and he staggered under its weight, his head spinning. “Everything vanished, and I was out cold for nine days.”

Oikawa glared at him, clearly not being quite so forgiving as Iwaizumi or even Kyoutani. His palms clammy, he held his gaze, hoping he didn’t betray the fear inside of him. Kyoutani angry was one thing, even Iwaizumi he could handle (now), but Oikawa had a presence – even in this most undignified of situations – that had even stilled Death, and Daichi could sense his power. He knelt on the floor.

“I am so desperately sorry for that night, for not taking care and ignoring your rules. I’m genuinely here to help, to see if I can make all of this right. So, please tell me, is Suga still alive?”

“Come closer,” Oikawa ordered. “I need to see.”

He was still glaring, still angry and suspicious and in that mood Daichi had no idea what could happen, but even though Iwaizumi reacted with a restraining hand on his shoulder, he shuffled forwards.

Oikawa had one hand free and with his fingertips he tilted Daichi’s chin upwards. His eyes bored into him, searing through to leave Daichi burning at his core. He needed to look away, anything to stop the red-hot needlepoints piercing him, but he stayed firm, hoping this stance, however foolish, would prove his sincerity.

“Tooru, leave him,” Iwaizumi murmured.

“I have to know,” Oikawa whispered. “I should have done this before.” His fingers gripped tighter and his stare burnt deeper.

Suga’s face appeared in his mind, and the memories of their first shared dance, then a kiss and delicate sips of the coldest champagne. Suga laughing, as they headed towards the bedroom. Closing his eyes, Daichi hoping to block Oikawa from that most intimate of memories, he wondered how much longer he could fend him off, but the scene changed. Suga was running, his arms outspread...  Daichi flinched, and just as he thought he would collapse, Oikawa released him and the pain left to be replaced by numbness.

“I believe you,” Oikawa declared. “But I don’t understand why Iwa-chan brought you here.”

“Because I think he’s the only one who can save your dancer,” Iwaizumi replied softly. He stepped forwards to help Daichi to his feet. “Unless he’s already dead.”

“He’s not.”

They all jumped. Ushijima had moved so silently that none of them had realised he was that close.

“What, you didn’t finish him off?” Iwaizumi question, disbelief punctuating every word.  “Going soft in your antiquity, Ushijima?”

“He had orders,” Oikawa replied, and smirked. “He thinks the Chief’s too lenient. Not like the old days, eh, Ushiwaka-chan?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Iwaizumi flapped his hand and turned swiftly between them. “Can we stop with this? What orders and why?”

“Mine,” someone growled from behind them. “And might I ask you to keep your dumbass feuds outta my council chamber. You’ve already been warned Oikawa, and now all this cussin’s woken me from my sleep.”

“Oh shit,” Iwaizumi hissed. He took several steps, reached for Daichi and thrust him behind his back.  Bowing low, forcing Daichi to do the same, he kept his eyes on the ground. “Ukai-sama, I regret the disturbance. If you’d only free Tooru, then I’ll take him back to the surface and he won’t ... um ... bother you again.”

“You promise?”

“On my honour!”

“Well,” rasped the man, his face in half shadow. “I’d hate to impugn your honour, Iwaizumi-kun, but Oikawa ain’t going anywhere quietly. I offered him freedom as soon as he landed here, but he refused it. This is some kinda protest, I think. And it’s giving me a headache.

“I want Koushi back,” Oikawa called. “We saved him.”

“He weren’t yours to save,” Ukai rapped.

 He left the sidelines, striding into the white light, a bear of a man, not tall, but with a growling presence. His hair was untidy, ruffled and straggling at the sides of his face, blond in contrast to the sideburns and stubble on his cheeks and chin. With bloodshot eyes, dark circles underneath them and the pallor of his skin, it was only a glimmer of a smirk and an air of satisfaction on his shoulders that gave any impression he was not one hundred percent fuelled by rage.

“Who’s this guy?” he demanded.

“Sawa -”

“Sawamura Daichi, right? Yeah, Thought so. How did he get here?”

“Boat,” Iwaizumi replied. “We sailed through with very few problems.”

“What the fuck is wrong with the guards? The size of him, Tanaka should have had no trouble! And ... oh ... I can see that fire inside o’ ya, Sawamura-kun. You’d have fought back, I can tell.”

“Tanaka wasn’t there,” Iwaizumi said. “And the Datekou boys let us pass pretty easily, too.”

“Nekoma?”

“Unattended. Wakatun looked deserted, too. We guessed you’d recalled them all.”

“Why would I do that? Fuck this, now the whole place’ll be awash with dead and undead. Just what I need right now. More council sessions. More judgin’ of souls. Fuckin’ Paradise, kill me now!”

He was ranting, his voice echoing across the chamber. And Daichi knew he should have been terrified for this was the King of the Underworld and he had more power over him and anyone here than any he’d encountered tonight, but ...

There was something altogether human and normal about him. A wisp of vulnerability behind the fierce snarl, and a wretched irritation for the issues preventing him from sleep. (If it was sleep. His hair looked altogether too mussed up for someone who slept alone, and there was a mark on his neck that looked suspiciously like a fresh hickey.)

“Okay, well as I’m here now and you lot look as if you’re going nowhere, then why not tell me about it,” he muttered, and stomped to the granite throne. “You first Iwaizumi. You Oikawa, can shut the fuck up. I’ve had enough of your arguments.”

Iwaizumi coughed. He gestured for Daichi to follow him, then presented himself to Ukai with a sweeping bow. “I’m here for Oikawa, primarily, but I’d also like to know how things stand between us.”

“Us?” Ukai shrugged. “You save one or two when you can. I got no objection to that. It’s kinda nice to have miracles occurin’ up there. Makes people happier.” He grinned. “I like that. The ones that make it here need to have happy thoughts. Helps keeps the place in order.”

“Then you won’t try to take back the boy or Yahaba-kun?”

“Wakatoshi?” Ukai said, beckoning him over. “Where do we stand on that?”

“He saved someone he shouldn’t have done.”

“Yeah, but you got him back, right?” Ukai said, and twisted back to Iwaizumi. “Look, it’s no skin off my nose. You were outta order with the Sugawara kid, but we’re cool now.”

“But we want Koushi back, too!” Oikawa shouted. “That’s why I’m-”

“I KNOW!” Ukai hollered. “BUT WHY SHOULD I? You got your guy to interfere, Oikawa. Suga-chan was as good as dead. He belongs here, but you interfered!”

The light flickered, the diamonds momentarily losing their sparkle. Everyone in the room reacted, scanning the room to see what was happening, but Daichi who had no idea what could be causing the problem, concentrated on his own mission, and stepped in front of Iwaizumi.

“May I speak?” he asked, ultra polite.

“Why not? Everyone else is givin’ me earache.”  Ukai stopped frowning at the dimming lights, and lounged back into his throne. “Gonna tell me you love the guy and can’t live without him?” He shrugged. “Look, death is kind of a thing down here, so you’ll have to do better than that.”

Clearing his throat to give himself thinking his time, Daichi searched desperately for the words. When it came to it, he was woefully unprepared, but then how did you plead for someone’s life when the judge had no interest in living?

“Ushijima-san says Sugawara isn’t dead yet,” he began. “I wondered why?”

“Not technically,” Ukai muttered, “but while he’s here, he might as well be.”

“But ... uh ... I don’t know exactly how this works, but if Ushijima-san had a hold of him, then wouldn’t he have died instantly?”

Ukai grimaced and ran his hand through his hair, shaking loose some of the knotted tresses. “Tell him, Wakatoshi.”

“He was not accepting,” Ushijima replied, sounding personally offended. “I brought him here with all deference, but he struggled and ...”

“Because he wanted to live?” Daichi suggested, trying to make it seem not as obvious as it sounded. “But ... uh ... I doubt every soul you have here wants to die, however ... uh ... sweet your place is.”

“Don’t take the piss!” Iwaizumi growled. “They like it here.”

“It’s fine, Iwaizumi. I know this ain’t the most salubrious of places, but it suits us. And yeah, Sawamura, you’re right, not many people embrace death or accept it, but we kinda want Sugawara to be happy here.”

“Why?” It was Oikawa speaking, softly questioning. “Ukai-san, why is Koushi so important to you?”

And maybe it was the reverential tone, but Ukai didn’t shout at him, instead getting to his feet. His hand drifted to the wooden throne, lightly touching the arm, and then he stepped off the dais and towards Oikawa.

“Just ‘cuz we live in the dark, don’t mean we don’t want light,” he muttered, and waved his hand in the air. “You can take Oikawa now, Iwaizumi-kun. Might sting a bit, but one pull and he’s free.”

Reaching out, Iwaizumi clasped Oikawa’s shoulders and with one huge effort, wrenched him free. Such was the power and the speed that Oikawa shot out of the throne, cannoning into Iwaizumi and toppling them both down to the floor.

“OWWWWW!”

“Get off me, idiot.”

“I’m in pain here!” Oikawa moaned.

Daichi flinched, his mouth dropped open as he stared at Oikawa’s legs. The pyjama legs had stayed with the chair, still stuck and keeping with them several layers of flesh. Oikawa’s legs had been flayed, the pink fat and blood seeping.

“You knew that would happen,” Iwaizumi snarled, but he wriggled out carefully, then picking up Oikawa he held him in a fireman’s lift. “I’ll take him to the infirmary. Sawamura, you’d better come along, too.”

“Nope. This guy’s staying here. I wanna talk,” Ukai mused, tapping his chin. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna kill him – not even a little bit.”

“Promise?” Iwaizumi asked.

“On my death,” Ukai replied. “Wakatoshi, let ‘em past, and make sure the guys know what Oikawa needs.”

 

He was alone with the King of the Underworld, the Chief of Death, and still wondering why he wasn’t terrified. Maybe it was Ukai’s attitude, the way he was rubbing the back of his head and trundling back to his throne. Or it could have been the pyjama shorts, which now he looked were inside out.

“You want Sugawara back, right?”

“Yes.” _Come on, think of something more to say, you dumbass._

“And you think he wants to leave?”

“I ho -” he thought again, measuring every word in his head, and again Suga’s smile infiltrated his thoughts. “Yes, he does.”

“So sure, but you don’t have any real idea.”

“We’re together,” Daichi explained. He paused, wondering if he should have mentioned that, but love had brought him here and he was placing his faith in Iwaizumi, who’d told him that although love might not be enough, he had to start somewhere. “We met at a party. The attraction was instant.”

Ukai snorted. Snapping his fingers in the direction of his throne, he caught a packet of cigarettes, lit one and took a slow satisfying drag.  “And you think that’s a connection, right?  You’re gonna tell me that you and Sugawara belong together.”

“Yes.”

Ukai said nothing, but his very silence intensified the tension between the pair. All at once, Daichi felt scared. He had to impress upon Ukai how important this was, but at the same time, there was no way he could lie. 

“At least...” He tried again. “I want him back. I feel this is my fault. He was safe, and I stuffed it up for him. I love him, and he was running towards me saying the same thing when he ... when he ...” Tears stung his eyes, tears he’d not been able to shed, but he couldn’t lose it now, not when Suga’s very existence was at stake.

“You think love’s the only thing that matters, doncha?” Ukai said, and reaching out he cuffed Daichi on the back of his head. “It ain’t. People do all sorts of shit and dress it up as ‘love’. Or they’ll use it as an excuse. You fucked up and now you’re feeling guilty. That’s why you came here, ain’t it? Salvin’ yer conscience?”

He took a drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke drift out of his lips, then stepped back to the table. With one swift move, the cigarette still in his mouth, he tugged the black tablecloth, letting it slither to the floor. “You’re very sure Sugawara’s unhappy, ain’t ya? Wanna take a look?”

With his heart leaping to his throat, Daichi nodded unable to speak and joined Ukai. The table top wasn’t stone like its legs, but a smoother surface, just like a mirror, except it wasn’t his reflection he could see.

He caught his breath, recognising the silver hair immediately, not just that, but a laugh bubbling away reaching him through the polished surface. Suga twirling in the white light that glimmered off his hair, and tinted his skin the colour of moonbeams. Unlike Oikawa, he was wearing different clothes to the ones he’d left in. A functional tunic, in beige, much like the one Yachi had worn, but jacked in at the waist with a rough belt of twine, and wide white trousers underneath. His hands were outstretched, holding another pair of hands, and for one infinitesimally tiny moment Daichi thought he’d never breathe again, so stony was the shock to his lungs.

But the hands were small, and as Suga span around, the other figure hove into view. A boy, quite young, with gangling limbs, unsure he should smile, gripped Suga’s hands tight. His hair short but awry, he looked awkward and lost and desperately sad, but as Suga began to smile, and as Daichi watched, the boy slowly smiled back, one side of his mouth twitching upwards.

“He could do so much good here,” Ukai said, his voice susurrus. “We get kids here, like that one, bewildered and broken. Adults too, lost just when they think they’re makin’ their mark on the world. Even the old ‘uns turn up scared and sobbin’. Suga-chan’s a natural soother. He _gets_ souls, ya know. He’s makin a difference and in this -”

Ukai continued his eulogy, his voice becoming even softer, and with a wistful curve to his lips, but Daichi wasn’t listening. He couldn’t hear, could not take in the implications that all this was for nothing. Because the one thing he’d not factored in was that Suga wouldn’t want to leave.

_He’s happy. He’s not scared of death any more._

And then Suga and the boy disappeared as the surface rippled. Daichi could still hear his laugh but it was fading fast. Ukai flinched, and then another voice, one far more brash reverberated around the chamber and a different picture appeared.

“HEY! Enough of that!” yelled a woman.

Not just _a_ woman. _The_ woman. Dragon Lady stared up at them, her eyes as narrow as gimlets, her expression sharp and unyielding.

“S-Saeko – ah, there ya are. I ... uh ... though you was asleep!”

“Hope I was, you mean? I caught ya sneaking out, ya bogun. Thought I wouldn’t notice a lump like you gettin’ outta bed?”

She raised her arms clapping her hands over her head, then shimmied through the mirror surface, emerging mermaid like, but with legs instead of a tail draped over the side of the table.

Wearing a satin camisole top and pantalons, a silk dressing gown slipping off one shoulder and make up streaked down her cheeks, and mussed up hair, the dragon lady, or Saeko, Daichi guessed, looked far from the soignée woman he’d seen at the party.  But she was still as sexy, even he could appreciate that, and from the way Ukai was staring at her, he didn’t need to look far to see who’d given him his hickey and was the reason for his distraction.

“I didn’t wanna wake ya,” Ukai protested, his voice low as he turned away from Daichi to take her arm.

“Get off me.” She pushed him off, but then grabbed the front of his shirt, bringing him down to her level and staring him in the eyes as their foreheads touched. “You ain’t playin’ fair.”

“What d’you know about it?” Ukai demanded.

For a moment, Saeko looked nonplussed. Her eyes flitted towards Daichi, a quick move, and one he wouldn’t of caught except he’d happened to be looking her way, then she gripped Ukai tighter, totally ignoring Daichi. “I have my spies,” she replied, giving him a pout.

He got the message. She didn’t know Daichi. He’d never met her. As far as the world (or rather the Underworld) was concerned, Saeko was a complete stranger to this interloper from the world above. He shuffled back a step and dropped his head, suddenly finding his hands very interesting as he twiddled his thumbs.

“And your spies are tellin’ ya what?”Ukai muttered.

“That you managed to nab yourself a sunshine soul in Suga-chan and from a ... uh ... _circuitous_ route.” She pushed him away slowly with her fingertips letting them trail down his chest. “That’s why Tooru-chan ain’t too happy.”

Ukai scowled and folded his arms. “Hajime had no right to challenge Wakatoshi, and the real froth on the beer was Tooru flauntin’ him at parties.” He turned his back on her, on Daichi, too. “This guy wants him back,” he mumbled.

Raising a finger to her lips, Saeko gave him one slow wink, then slid off the table.  She wrapped her hands around Ukai, resting her cheek on his back. “Who’s he, then? Don’t look like one o’ Tooru’s crowd.”

“Nah, he’s a mortal. Reckons he _leurves_ Suga, and Suga _leurves_ him, so they should get to live happy ever after.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what _did_ ya mean Sawa ... uh ... Sweetcheeks?” Saeko asked, covering the slip of the tongue with another wink and loud excruciatingly bored sigh.

He took his time. When it came down to it, there wasn’t a great deal to say and he wasn’t even sure if he could convince Ukai-sama, not when his regard for life was apparently non-existent.

“Suga loves living,” he began. “He loves dancing and the sunshine and spending time just doing stuff ... with me. And I love him, love doing things with him and ... even if he _should_ have been here because Death had him, doesn’t it make _any_ difference that he was given another chance at life?”

“Nah, it don’t,” Ukai snapped. “Hajime needs to toe the line. Tooru gets more up himself every time he appears shoutin’ the odds, and I’m gettin’ hoardes o’ people down here traumatised ‘cause you mortals can’t stop killin’ each other!”

“The troubles of the world ain’t this guy’s fault, Keish,” Saeko murmured, and nipped at his ear.

“It’s dumb though. Why d’ya wanna go back there? Why d’ya want t’ take Suga-chan back t’ all that misery?” He detached himself from Saeko and leant his fists on the table, peering gloomily at the surface. “There’s somethin’ to be said for bein’ dead and not bein’ scared no more.”

“There’s bein’ lonely,” Saeko replied, and almost casually placed her hand over Ukai’s fist. “Some people are scared o’ that.”

He unfurled his hand, and squeezed her fingers, smiling ruefully. “You think I should give Sawamura what he wants, just cuz he said a few pretty words.”

As she shook her head, the light dimmed and Daichi’s heart plummeted. She wasn’t looking at him anymore; her expression was solemn, she was now in tune with the deity at her side and the starkness of the place, the glamorous, opulent party goer no longer.

“What I think,” she said, “is that you gotta ask Suga-chan what he wants.”

“I ain’t promisin’ nuthin’,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you bring him here, let them have their little reunion, then you can decide if it’s a goodbye or whatever.”

With a harrumph, Ukai lifted her hand to his lips, gave it a kiss and then released her. He sat on the table, swivelling his legs around, and then with a grimace dropped through the surface. It rippled, then smoothed, and although Daichi crept closer, trying to capture any sight or sound of Suga, the depths below were silent.

“Thanks,” Daichi said.

“Think nothin’ of it,” she murmured, her eyes trained on the table.

“You’re ... uh ... You’ve been talking to me for months, haven’t you?”

“Who me?” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. She sighed and drummed her fingers on the table. “He means well, ya know, but ‘cause he’s down here he don’t really get what’s so great about up there.”

“What is he to you?” Daichi asked.

She tilted her head to one side, a soft smile on her lips. “Husband, lover, rival, friend. You name it, we’re it, Sawamura.”

He must have looked puzzled because the next moment she’d tucked her arm through his. “Husband, ‘cause we’re kind of married. Lover ... well, I don’t think I need to explain that. Friend, ‘cause sometimes I think he’s the only one that understands me, and you would not believe the shit he and I put up with to be together.” She drew a breath, closing her eyes as a smile graced her lips.

“And rival?” Daichi queried.

“Ain’t you worked it out yet?” she asked. “My presence down here at this time. Where d’ya think I come from?”

“My world?” he offered, then qualifying his hesitation, he continued. “Iwaizumi-san told me not to have any preconceptions. But ... uh ... are you telling me you come here for winter?”

She started to laugh, throaty and strong. “I come here and it _becomes_ winter, Sawa-chan. The Earth ‘dies’ or rather it sleeps, ‘cause I’ve died, again and again and again. ”

The she squeezed his arm, and her tone became far more conspiratorial. “We don’t have much time. I’ll help as much as I can with Suga-chan, but if Keishin’s determined, there ain’t no moving him. If only you guys had waited a week to go on your night walk, I coulda stopped all o this, but nope, you thought you knew better than Saeko- neesan, didn’t ya!”

“I didn’t know anything at all!” Daichi retorted, stung.

“I can tell that.” She unhooked her arm. “Maybe I shoulda clued you in earlier, but I didn’t want to risk you runnin’ a mile. Kinda thought the pair of you would stick together, like you were made for each other.”

“People aren’t made for each _other_ , only themselves!” he snapped, then bit his lip, for whatever he felt, he was in the presence of a powerful god and one that he had no doubt could shrivel him to a husk as soon as wink. “Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re right. If it were true, then it’d be kinda dull up there. And you and Suga-chan woulda got together a lot earlier.” She chewed the side of her mouth, considering him with a sidelong glance then began again. “You know it was me talkin’ on the train, don’t ya?”

“I gathered,” he said dryly. “I don’t know why, though. Suga wasn’t on the train, and I didn’t meet him for five months.”

“He was at the station, just arrived from a different destination. Got his pocket picked as he got off the train, and hitched a lift –”

“In the lorry that crashed,” Daichi remembered. “But how could I have prevented that?”

“You were s’posed to bump into him, set his luggage flyin’ and the pair of you go goo-goo eyes over each other.” She clutched her hand over her heart and sighed melodramatically. “Was gonna be quite the romance.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“Your train broke down,” she muttered, and glared as if it were Daichi’s fault.

“Um ... if you could have made all of this happen, then why couldn’t you have stopped Suga dying in the first place?”

“Hey!” She slapped his hand and scowled. “First day back, I weren’t quite at the top of my game. And up there, I don’t have the same powers. That’s why I had to use Tooru and his set up in the end.”

“Same powers?”

“I’m Queen down here for six months of the year. Down here, I make decisions, judgements and _everyone_ obeys. But up there, Death don’t have to listen.”

“So...” He paused, unsure how to phrase it, unsure he wanted a reply. “Is Suga fated to die?”

She waited before replying, her hand flat on the table, she edged it back so the palm skimmed the table surface, causing faint ripple to lap around her.  She paddled her wrist  in, twirling it around until the scene flipped. Daichi stared down, now seeing not the stark landscape of the underworld, but the busy city he’d left.

“It ain’t Fate,” Saeko murmured. “More manoeuvrability.  We people watch at times. It’s so Keish can prepare down here in case more space is needed. But when we saw Sugawara, both saw the sunshine inside of him and wanted that for different reasons. Keishin’ll tell ya he needs him down here, and he’s right, but I’ll say I want him up above, ‘cause if anyone knows the value o’ life it’s Suga-chan.”

She sniffled, and looking sideways he saw a teardrop prickling her eyelashes. “You won’t just have to persuade the King of the Underworld, though, Sawamura, but Suga too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa's entrapment is from the Theseus myth when he went into the Underworld and was persuaded to sit down. Hercules pulled him free but at the expense of the flesh from the back of his thighs. Apparently Athenian men, to this day, have very sculpted thighs - but I've not checked.   
> Also, Iwaizumi as a Death Wrestler comes from the Hercules myth where he saved Alcmene. 
> 
> And now some questions: 
> 
> Will Daichi be able to persuade Ukai and Suga?   
> Will this end happily?   
> How many more characters will the author add to this fic?   
> Will a certain someone ever forgive me for the identity of Death? (please don't stop reading!)


	6. when you hold me i'm alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone unexpectedly saves the day ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story purposes, Daichi is the writer behind the song featured in this chapter, and not the incredible Sia Furler

Steeling himself for Suga arriving flanked by Ukai and Death, Daichi was thrown off kilter when Oikawa and Iwaizumi returned first.  No longer clad in his pyjamas but a similar tunic to Suga’s, Oikawa also sported tight bandages around his thighs. He limped a little, leaning on Iwaizumi for support, but apart from that, he seemed in tearing spirits, ready to go into battle again and clapping his hands on Daichi’s back when he saw him.

“Iwa-chan has explained everything, and I want to commend you, Sawa-chan, for your courage in coming here. I assure you that I had everything under control, but showing support never does any harm.”

“Under control wrigglin’ around in a chair?” Saeko raised her eyebrows so high they disappeared under her fringe. “Is that what you call it?”

“ _You_ could have freed me,” Oikawa retorted, and stuck out his tongue. “Koushi and I would have been out of here much earlier if you’d bothered to appear.”

She smiled enigmatically. “Packin’ all your eggs in one basket has never been a good idea. At least not without a lot of soft straw and padding.”

“What?”

“What Saeko-san means,” Iwaizumi started respectfully, “is that relying solely on you and having no alternative would have been a short sighted plan of attack.”

“I suppose you’re right, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moped. He tried to sit on the edge of the table, but winced as he got close. “I need to lie down. Is there any chance of some cushions?”

But before Saeko could answer, the table began to shimmer and shake.  The four of them stood back, waiting, and for Daichi the sense of trepidation that had been hanging over him since he’d arrived, intensified. It was no longer a mild fear, but a quaking inside of him – not for what Ukai and Ushijima could do to him, but if they would play fair.  Saeko had told him Ukai had set his sights on Suga before Spring, so what was to stop him taking that final step and merging Suga into the Underworld?

Four figures slipped through the table. Ukai first, and in his arms was a boy – the one Suga had been dancing with. He was wiry, with strange dark blue eyes, a black helmet of hair, and a mistrustful expression. He eyed Ukai warily, eyed them all with suspicion, and when Ukai set him on the floor, he clung to the table leg, his eyes trained firmly on the rippling surface.

“Who’s the boy?” Oikawa asked. He tugged on Iwaizumi’s sleeve. “Is he the one you mentioned at the hospital? Is he Akiro’s friend?”

Iwaizumi crouched down, and observed the boy. “That’s not Yuutarou. I don’t remember him. Why have you brought him here, Ukai-san?”

“I was asked to,” Ukai replied.

“This better not be a trick, Keish!”

“It ain’t,” he replied, but he wouldn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes.

Someone was slipping up towards them. Daichi saw a sliver of hair appearing first, and held his breath, only exhaling when the colour was dark. Ushijima, his expression blank, levered himself onto the floor, then unwound a skein of rope from his waist. He started to pull, the muscles in his arms rippling as he heaved. In an instant both Daichi and Iwaizumi had joined him, understanding exactly what he was trying to reel in. Within moments, the mirrored surface rippled again, and this time the light from the diamonds gleamed bright as it shone on silver. Suga landed amongst them, settled himself on the floor and dropped the rope he’d been holding.

It had been twelve days since he’d seen him, twelve days since he’d held Suga in his arms, kissed his mouth, let his hands glide over his soft skin, and twelve long days and nights since he’d heard his voice. It was altogether a lifetime, and yet as Daichi met Suga’s eyes, all worry that it had been far too long melted away.

Suga looked the same. But for the circles under his eyes and the droop of his mouth, he was entirely the same man that Daichi had approached in the private garden. His eyes were huge, his hair as messy, and his cheeks were tinted pink – but the colour drained away as he realised who was there.

“Daichi,” he said, his voice cracking. “You look ... the same. I thought --” he shook his head, bewilderment leeching out of him. “Why ... How are you here?”

“For you. Iwaizumi brought me,” Daichi explained, and held out his hands. “I’ve come to plead for you, Suga –”

And then Suga twisted around to face Ukai, all defiance and flames. “You said it was Tooru!” he cried. “You told me Tooru was here and wanted to speak to me. You didn’t tell me it was Daichi!”

“I’m playin’ fair!” Ukai growled, shooting Saeko a ferocious look. “If I’d told you he was here right now, would ya have come?”

“Yes!”Suga implored, “But this just makes it so much harder. Why would you do this? Why? I’ve promised, haven’t I?”

“Promised what?” Oikawa’s voice was sharp, cutting in. “Koushi, what have you done?”

“He said it was just you here,” Suga whispered, walking towards Oikawa. “And I thought that was fine because you’d understand. It’s what you do. You help and save people and there are some who deserve another chance because-”

“What have you _done_?” Oikawa repeated far more forcefully. He grabbed Suga’s arms. “ _Who_ deserves another chance?”

“It was going to be easy, I thought. I can stay here. It’s really not so bad. I don’t know what I was so scared of before. And look at the diamonds. They’re almost like stars, don’t you think?” His voice had risen, and although it was clear he had a speech prepared, a speech tailor-made for Tooru and Tooru only and that’s where he’d intended his focus to be, Suga’s face jerked in Daichi’s direction, his eyes drawn as if Daichi had him on a slender thread.

“Suga,” Daichi whispered. “What have you promised?”

He swallowed and then he smiled, a wobbly tearful smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” He stretched out his hand. For a moment Suga hesitated, but then he reached across, touched his fingertips to Daichi’s hand.

They were warm. Nothing was irreparable.

But Suga was shaking. His eyes gleamed as unshed tears flooded the cinnamon brown, sparkling brighter than any gems. “I’ve asked if Tobio could have another chance.” His voice wavered. “He’s nine years old, Daichi. He’s had no life at all. I said I’d stay in his place. Seemed fair as I should have died months ago.”

“No!” Three of them yelped. Daichi, Oikawa and Iwaizumi steadfast in their utter disbelief.

“You can’t-”

“Why did you promise -”

“Suga, no, don’t say this.”

But he was quiet, and crouching on the floor, he held his hands out for the boy, who shuffled into them, no hint of a smile. “This is Tooru,” Suga whispered. “He’ll take good care of you. And Hajime, too. Oh, and wait until you meet-”

“Koushi, stop this!”

“He can dance, Tooru,” Suga continued, ignoring him. “Tobio will be as good as you one day.”

“Hajime, talk to him!”

Sitting on the ground, Iwaizumi edged closer to Suga, and narrowed his eyes as he studied the boy. He ruffled his hair, getting the boy to look up at him, and as their eyes met, Tobio gave a small odd kind of smile. The corners of his mouth twitched before they dropped and he was back to studying the floor again.

“Tobio, right?” Iwaizumi murmured. He nodded. “And you want to come with us?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Suga-san said it was nice where he was from.”

“Suga-san’s right,” Iwaizumi replied. “What else did he say?”

“That we could dance. Or go for walks. He said he’d teach me to pirouette.”

“I didn’t –”

“So Suga-san’s coming with us, is that right?” Iwaizumi asked, his eyes flickering to Oikawa, and then Daichi.

Tobio nodded – the gesture emphatic. “He’s going to buy me milkshakes.”

“Is that right, Koushi?”

“Stop it,” he whispered. “I made a deal, Hajime. You both gave me a chance and it was wonderful. A whole summer of life and fun and even-” he faltered “- love, but I messed up, and you can’t keep bailing me out and having to protect me every night. How long could that have lasted?”

“We would have sorted it out,” Iwaizumi said. “Koushi, you’re not a burden.”

“And us?” Daichi muttered. He was numb, asking the question, but so very scared of the answer. “Don’t spare me, Suga. I need to know.”

Relinquishing Tobio, Suga got to his feet, brushing whatever dust was on his tunic, before stepping in front of him. “I love you,” he admitted. “I think I did from that first moment, when you clasped your hands together and encouraged me to dance. You looked so intense that night. So real that I could feel your emotions. And then we met properly, drinking that champagne and it was all so very perfect.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“It was too perfect, I don’t know, but it’s like dancing, you can’t spin around forever.”

“No, you stop, take a breather together, and then dance again,” Daichi almost yelled. “Suga, what is it about ‘us’ that’s so terrible you’d rather stay here without me?”

“Nothing’s terrible!” Suga crooked his arm across his eyes, scrubbing away the unshed tears. “I didn’t know,” he sobbed.

“Know what?”

“I saw ... I managed to get a look at the mirror. I begged Yachi to show me. It was you I needed to see because my last memory was you frozen where you stood while I was grabbed and catapulted back here.  And there you were in a hospital, so still, so quiet, and Michimiya-kun was crying.”

“You thought I’d died?”

Raising his chin, Suga nodded. His lips wobbled and he gulped at the air. “I saw Death in the room and knew you didn’t have long.”

“I didn’t die, Suga. Look at me,” Daichi whispered and cupped his hands around Suga’s face.

“But I saw Death. Ushijima was there at the end of your bed.”

“No.” Ushijima from the back of the room shot the word between them.

“You were there!” Suga asserted.

“But not as Death,” Ushijima replied. His wooden face softened momentarily, giving the appearance of warmth, and when he spoke there was genuine pity in his voice. “I was Sleep, Sugawara-kun.”

“What?” High pitched alarm rent the air, Suga, nervy, leapt away from Daichi, desperate to make sense of the latest revelation. “But you’re Death. Hajime said so, Yacchan pointed you out. Shimizu-san warned me not to cross you.”

“Death and Sleep are one and the same,” Iwaizumi replied softly. “Death is perfect sleep, according to Ushijima. Sleep is the kinder half of his soul, according to Tooru. But for all that, they coexist in one being because the separation would cause irrevocable harm.”

“So Koushi made the bargain thinking Sawamura was on his way,” Tooru argued. “That’s not a fair deal at all.”

“It’s still a deal,” Ukai growled, stomping back to his throne. He sat heavily, raking his fingers through his hair. “And how the Paradise was I s’posed to know what he’d seen? I ain’t a mind reader like you, Oikawa!”

“You should have let me see Koushi as soon as I arrived!” Oikawa countered. “But, oh, no, you had things to do, and then you sloped off to bed with your wife.”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Saeko chirped. “Not when you were the dumbass that couldn’t keep Suga-chan inside.”

Seeing a way out of this while they were sniping, Daichi grabbed Suga’s sleeve, yanking him back. “You don’t have to do this. You made a promise when you didn’t know the truth.”

For a moment, Suga’s eyes sparked, but quickly dulled. “I swore an oath,” he said. “I told Ukai-sama that if he’d agree Tooru could take Tobio, then I’d stay here and help.”

“I’ll refuse,” Tooru said, and with a sudden lunge, he headed for the gold throne. “I can sit this one out, Ukai, just see if I don’t! All your council dealings will be void with me shouting them down!”

Which might have been effective, except Ushijima stuck out his arm and barricaded Oikawa’s way. “You got past me once, Oikawa, but never again.”

“I will not put up with this!  You cannot expect a mortal to make a bargain like that,” Oikawa raved. “This is going against everything we’re supposed to uphold!”

“Don’t you lecture me about bargains and upholdin’ stuff!” Ukai snarled. “You cheated me outta Sugawara in the first place. And I give ya a fair amount of miracles. You do alright out of it, and everyone thinks you’re such a hotshot up there, don’t they? I could easily double Wakatoshi’s workload, or even unleash his apprentice. Goshiki’s almost fully trained now!”

_Goshiki... Goshiki ... Dr Goshiki, the junior who said I was going to die. Did Ushijima save me from death?_

“Suits me,” Iwaizumi yelled. “We’ve still got Kyoutani. How is your ass after he took a bite out of it, Ushiwaka?”

_Higher beings,_ Daichi thought, the irony not escaping him even in this direst of times. _And they still behave like High Schoolers._

“Way I see it,” Saeko drawled, dousing the fire with a wave of words. “Mortals making deals is kinda how this thing’s s’posed to work.”   She’d sprawled herself on the wooden throne, legs over one of the arms and staring up at the ceiling. “Otherwise it’s just us gods squabbling, and we could do that over ... potato chips, don’t ya think?”

“Saeko, what are you goin’ on about?”

She swivelled around, leaning her elbows on the throne arm and cupping her chin in her hands. “You, Keish, had no right to strike that bargain with Suga-chan. He had no idea there was a mortal brave enough to fight for him.” She blew him a kiss, then switched focus. “And you, sweetie-pie,” she said to Suga, “should not underestimate your worth in the world. Fact is you spread happiness wher _ever_ you go. Why d’ya think my lunk of a husband’s so keen to recruit ya?”

“Is there a point to this?” Oikawa asked, sounding waspish.

“We have a mortal here. He ain’t dead or even close to it, so as Queen of the Underworld, I’m invoking my right to let him plead.”

“You’ve been here five days!” Ukai said, and started to laugh. “And you’re wasting that right already, especially as Suga’s already decided to stay.”

“So you’ve agreed to honour that, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Suga-chan’s bargain is his own life for Tobio-chan’s. Sawamura, however, is separate from that. He might have somethin’ else to offer.”

“Like what?” Ukai’s eyes flipped over Daichi, scrutinising in disbelief.

“This is preposterous!” Oikawa hissed, but Iwaizumi hushed him, staring intently at the couple on their thrones.

“Equivalence,” he muttered to Daichi. “What will you give in exchange?”

And he had nothing, he knew that with every fibre inside of him, that there was nothing of value he could exchange for Suga’s life. “I flip burgers,” he said bleakly. “I write the occasional song. I have no prospects, nothing at all that could fill the void, but ... you can have me. I will stay here if you’ll release him.”

“No,” Suga cried. “That’s not -”

“Not acceptable at all,” Ukai grumbled, raising his hand to shush Suga. “Ain’t a fair exchange. I mean you could help Tanaka, I guess, but you’ll be miserable, and I don’t want him bein’ brought down.”

“What did you want from the City?” Saeko asked, twiddling a strand of her hair.

“Success,” Daichi answered with a hollow laugh. “I’m a song writer. I wanted my words and tunes to be sung all over the city. It’s not happened, but that is the dream.”

“So,” Saeko continued, looking back to Ukai. “If I asked ya to give up your dream for Suga-chan, would ya do that?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even think. It was obvious, for dreams were pointless alongside this reality. 

“Minx,” Ukai grumbled. “I don’t even know if this guy’s any good.”

“You can prove that, can’t ya, Sawa-chan,” she trilled. Stepping off her throne, she sashayed towards him, guiding him away from the others to murmur, “Make your case, and don’t forget it’s not just my husband you need to convince.”

“How?” he whispered.

 “Sawa-chan,” she whispered, speaking slowly as if explaining to a five-year-old, “you _write_ songs, so sing one of ‘em.”

“I’m not a singer,” he insisted.

“Down here a fox yowling is like opera, so just do it. Now what d’you play?” she urged.

“Guitar. But, look, this is a bad idea. Can’t I just fight someone instead?”

“Nope. You won’t win. I mean I could ask my l’il bro, but even if I tell him he has to lose, he’ll get all carried away and kill ya where you stand. Not that he’ll mean it, you understand, but that’s the way he is.”

“What are yous talkin’ about?” Ukai demanded. “Either this guy’s pleadin’ his case or not, but you ain’t stringing this out for much longer.”

“Guitars,” Saeko called back, turning to face her husband, hands on hips. “Sawamura needs one.”

“If you’re time-wasting, it’ll just make me madder!” But he must have seen something in Saeko’s face, or maybe recognised Daichi’s desperation, for the next moment, he’d snapped his fingers and yelled out a name. “Tanaka!”

A figure loomed into view. The infamous first guard, Daichi assumed, who took on all-comers, bounded on from the sidelines, gave Iwaizumi a wave, snarled at Oikawa, then with volte-face smiled at Suga.

“Yo!” he said, lumbering up to Ukai. His cheeks were a little pink, even though he’d stopped staring at Suga now, but he managed to hold it together to salute Saeko.

Surprisingly familiar with the Queen of the Underworld, Daichi pondered, but as Tanaka gave Saeko a wink, a lot of things fell into place.

“Your little brother?” he muttered to Saeko.

“Yeah, just call me Neesan,” she whispered back. “He’s a good guy, I promise, but I’d still hate ya to have to fight him.”

“You want me for something?”Tanaka asked, bowing his head to Ukai.

“That instrument of yours. The one that sets my teeth on edge,” Ukai explained. “Have you destroyed it?”

“Uh ....” Shuffling his feet, Tanaka’s fingers began to twist together, giving him the appearance of a school boy caught scrumping apples instead of a god responsible for sieving through the dead. “I ... um ... haven’t exactly got around to that. I kinda thought Neesan might wanna listen. ‘cause I been practising, an stuff, so I’m loads better than I was before Spring.”

“Go and get it!” Ukai commanded. “And be quick. I don’t have all day.”

Shrugging, Tanaka muttered a ‘sure’, then sped off in the direction he’d come from. He was back within minutes, the guitar on his back, and a very real swagger to his step. He’d also acquired a black beanie hat, pulled over his shaven head, making him seem far less intimidating, although Daichi was pretty sure that wasn’t the intention.

“What would you like me to play?” he asked, presenting himself to Ukai as he unlooped the guitar. “Something dancey for your guests?  I heard ... uh ... Suga-san is pretty good.” He blushed, and Daichi bit his lip in an attempt to stop from laughing. Even down here, amongst the Immortals and the dead, the Sugawara effect of rendering all around him a flustering mess was live and kicking.

_Don’t smile. Concentrate._

“It’s for this guy,” Ukai answered and pointed to Daichi. “He fancies himself a talented musician. I reckon you might know somethin’ about that, Tanaka-kun, so you can help me decide.”

“Decide what,” Tanaka said, scowling as his opportunity was ripped from him.

“He’s here to plead for Sugawara’s life,” Ukai replied. “And if he’s any good, then he’s gonna give up that talent and his dreams to take Sugawara away.”

Tanaka’s scowl deepened. He snarled as he handed over the guitar, showing off pointed teeth and the cheeks which had flushed in Suga’s presence had paled. Ripping off the beanie, he strode to Ukai’s side. “Bring it on.”

“And if he’s bad?” It was Iwaizumi speaking, his eyes narrow, one hand on Tobio’s shoulder. “What happens then?”

“Sugawara stays here.”

“And the boy?”

“Can go with you and Oikawa,” Ukai said, chewing his thumbnail so short it began to bleed down the side. “Can we get on with this?”

_He’s impatient, but I can’t hurry this._ Daichi closed his eyes, trying to quell the nerves now clutching at his heart. He was not a singer. He could play, keep time and lift melodies into the air with his fingers, but as far as singing went, he could hold a tune and that was it. There was power to his voice, but nothing that would reverberate and strike at emotions the way Yui’s did.

But he had to try.

“I don’t have all day!”

Opening his eyes, Daichi focused on Ukai, bored and restless in his seat, fidgeting as he continued to bite his nails. Saeko had resumed her place on the throne alongside him, motionless as her eyes bored into him. Leaning over the back of Ukai’s throne, Tanaka glowered, while Ushijima – his face a mask – remained in place to block Oikawa’s route to the gold throne. Iwaizumi was still crouched on the floor, his hand outstretched to Tobio, and Oikawa joined him, biting his lip as he stared up at Daichi.

None of them believed he could do this. Even Saeko had stopped smiling, the knuckles of her left hand whitening as she gripped the throne arm.

And then he felt a hand in his, and warm breath soft on his neck, a pair of lips, cool on his cheek, and the most lyrical of whispers in his ear.

“I love you.”

“If this doesn’t work,” Daichi murmured. “Then I’ll stay here.”

“I won’t let you,” Suga said, and touched Daichi’s cheek. “Promise you’ll leave whatever happens, or I’m walking away now.”

“But you thought I was dead. You assumed I’d be joining you anyway.”

“But you’re not,” Suga said, his voice a little louder. “And you have so much life in you, Daichi, and I won’t let you give that up.” He twisted Daichi around, ignoring the grumbles from Ukai, and slowly pressed his mouth the Daichi’s lips, prying them apart with his tongue. His fingers carded Daichi’s hair, and he continued to kiss as if he knew this was their last time.

_Last time?_

Daichi broke away, thrusting an arm’s length between them. “Go and join Oikawa. I’ve got this,” he said, certainty dripping from his mouth, a certainty he didn’t quite feel.

As Suga sat on the floor, his knees up to his chest, letting his head rest on Oikawa’s shoulder, Daichi realised that now he was alone. Everything between him and Suga, their past and future, either together or apart rested on the next few minutes. He’d never truly felt fear before, not even when he first met Death, but now its icy fingers tore at his insides, freezing up his throat and numbing his fingers.

_Fuck. I’ve lost before I’ve started_ , he despaired

 But then Suga smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides, and he pressed his palms together, mouthing ‘go on’. The lights from the diamonds sparkled again, their rays gracing everyone in the chamber, but they danced around Suga.

And he knew what he had to sing. Shame he didn’t have a piano, but he guessed that would be pushing it.

There was no intro, just one clashing chord and then ...

_‘Shine bright like a diamond.  
Shine bright like a diamond.’  _

He tried a smile, tentative. It made his voice wobble.

_‘Find light in the beautiful sea  
I choose to be happy.’  _

His voice rasped; he swallowed.

_‘You and I, you and I  
We're like diamonds in the sky.’_

Suga’s eyes gleamed. Sitting up straight his hands began to fiddle with his tunic, smoothing his palms on the linen. But all the while he watched.

_‘You're a shooting star I see_  
_A vision of ecstasy_  
_When you hold me, I'm alive_  
_We're like diamonds in the sky.’_

His voice was cracking. Out of the corner of his eye, Ukai was restless again, and there was an odd sort of half-smile on his face, that side of his mouth hidden from Saeko clearly happy with the way this was unfolding.

He opened his mouth wide in a break, and switching his focus from Suga, he began to walk around with the guitar, a few steps as he wandered across to the thrones.

_‘I saw the life inside your eyes,’_ he sang, directly at Saeko.

She winced.

_Okay, bad move, but I’m not done yet,_ Daichi thought, redoubling his efforts. _Louder. Add some more power, risky in case he couldn’t carry the tune, but I’m clearly not impressing right now so ..._

_‘So shine bright, tonight you and I_  
_We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky,’_ he sang, letting his voice carry.

_Straight back to Suga, don’t even catch Saeko’s eyes._  
  
_‘Eye to eye, so alive,”_ he breathed.  
_We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky.’_

Someone shifted out of the corner of his eye. Tanaka was no longer slouching but had stood up straight arms folded, his face grim – the very definition of confrontation.

_‘Shining bright like a diamond,’_ Daichi continued, facing him down.  
_‘We’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.’_

 

He turned on his heel, fingernails strumming each chord, picking out the melody, using not only the guitar but his feet to tap out the rhythm.  And then he found Suga again, as beautiful as that first time, his face alight with pleasure and over brimming with not just admiration but love. Daichi knelt on one knee, staring only at him.

_‘Palms rise to the universe  
As we moonshine and molly’_

Suga gasped. Daichi smiled into his eyes.

  
_‘Feel the warmth, we'll never die_  
_We're like diamonds in the sky’_

His best performance. His best and newest song. Written for the man who gyred in moonlight, far brighter than any star.

_‘You're a shooting star I see  
A vision of ecstasy.’_

Alongside Suga, Oikawa had taken his hand and Daichi wasted a precious second tearing his eyes away to glance at him. Oikawa was smiling – not archly, not smirking, not knowing – but a genuine smile of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Heartened Daichi got to his feet.

_‘When you hold me, I'm alive  
We're like diamonds in the sky’_

Make this more general. Appeal to Ukai now.

_‘At first sight I felt the energy of sun rays  
I saw the life inside your eyes.’_

Okay, not a good line, but this next one, stare right at him.

_‘So shine bright, tonight you and I  
We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky.’_

Now look away, smudge the word alive a little, in case that offends.

_‘Eye to eye, so alive  
We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky.’_

_And end this now before my voice disintegrates and my legs give out from under me._

“ENCORE ENCORE!” Oikawa yelled, getting immediately to his feet and pulling Suga with him. “Fantastic! What do you say, Ukai? Has this mortal proved his worth?”

“You’re biased,” Ukai snapped. He looked irritated, his brows knit together, and not at all the benign ruler who’d joked around with Iwaizumi, and lavished affection on his Queen. “We need to vote.”

“Amazing talent,” Saeko cheered. “Of course I’m voting that you can leave with your prize, just ... uh ... I’m kinda sad you have to give up the dream, Sawa-chan.”

“Worth it,” he declared, smiling with relief at Saeko before turning to Tanaka.

“Uh...” His arms had dropped to his side, his shoulders as slumped as his crestfallen expression. “That was so beautiful, Ukai-san,” he sobbed, wrenching his chest as he tried to continue. “I can’t say he weren’t, but I don’t want Suga-san to leave.”

“That ain’t the agreement,” Saeko argued, and leaning out of her throne, she grabbed Tanaka by the ear, twisting it viciously. “Does this guy have talent? Yeah, he does. And if he’s prepared t give that up, then there’s the balance.”

“Leave him alone!” Ukai said, but he didn’t do anything to break them apart. His eyes flickered sideways. “Wakatoshi, what’s your opinion?”

“I have none.”

“C’mon, just for once liven up. Did this guy’s song move ya at all?”

“Hey, I don’t think we need Ushiwaka’s point of view. He ain’t a judge here,” Saeko yelped. “We got three of us. And he’s too damn biased.”

“And you ain’t.”

“I’m kind,” she huffed. “And do things from the goodness of my heart.”

“He’s a judge when you piss off up there, so I want his advice now!” countered Ukai.

Oikawa clasped Suga closer. And next to him, Iwaizumi flung his arm protectively over Tobio’s shoulders. He met Oikawa’s eyes, and Daichi knew, just from that glance, that he was in trouble now, and the gettaway they were planning would have to be fast and furious.

“Keishin, honey.” A worried tone had appeared, Saeko unsure of her boundaries where she could and couldn’t influence.

“Don’t honey me. You’re all smiles when you think it’s goin’ your way.” He slammed his hand on the table in front of them, then turned back to Death. “I want your opinion.”

“It was adequate,” Ushijima intoned. “Death was unmoved.”

“And that’s a no, so as I’m King, and the vote is even, then I get casting vote and I say-”

“But Sleep found it highly moving,” Ushijima continued, not the slightest bit perturbed at interrupting his boss. His expression changed. It was as if someone had peeled away the bark of a mahogany tree to find paler, softer wood underneath.

He smiled, showing white, even teeth and a twinkle in his eye. “Sleep’s opinion is that Sawamura-san has won the freedom of Sugawara Koushi.” Bowing respectfully, he took a step back. “If that is all, my Lord, I have to attend to Goshiki’s ongoing training.”

As Iwaizumi whooped and Suga leapt out of Oikawa’s arms and straight into Daichi’s, Ushijima, still with his Sleep face on, gave a ghost of a wink and strode away from the chamber.

Daichi covered Suga’s face with kisses, hitching him high. Winding his legs around Daichi’s waist, Suga laughed, music and light and life radiating from him. “You did it. You did it. I love you, Sawamura Daichi!”

“DAMMIT!” Ukai yelled, so loud the table shook and a myriad of images from the underworld shimmered into view. “Why are you always right, Saeko?”

“AHHH, I knew it!  You loved it too, didn’t ya!”

He broke into what possibly passed for a smile amongst the dead, Daichi wasn’t sure, but getting up from his throne, Ukai pulled down his pyjama top and held out his hand to Saeko.

“I’m goin’ back to bed. Oikawa and Iwaizumi, I’ll let you have the boy, take your usual route, okay. And you’re not to come back here for at least a century, all right?” He turned back to Daichi. “You’ll have to take another boat, being mortal and all that. Oh, and one last thing...”

“What’s that,” Daichi said, grinning so wide he thought his face would split.

“Once the boatman drops you off, you have t’ lead the way. You can’t look back, Sawamura. Keep your eyes in front until you reach daylight, or Sugawara’s gone.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

“Uh... you do,” Saeko complained.

He gave her an on-off smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not that one. Gramps made it up years ago, and I can’t just dismantle it now.”

Raising his hand (Daichi quivered a little, wondering if he was about to throw a thunderbolt of whatever gods did these days, but it was just a wave) Keishin towed a kiss-blowing Saeko away, and rattled out an order to Tanaka.

Scuffing his feet on the ground, Tanaka slouched towards them all, bowing to Daichi as he accepted his guitar. “That was cool, man. I’m kinda bummed you won, though.”

“Because you wanted Suga to stay,” Daichi said, holding Suga closer in case Tanaka decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Well .. uh ... yeah, there’s that, but also ... uh ...” His cheeks flushed again, a curious infusion of red and pink. “You coulda taught me the guitar. I’d have liked hangin’ around with you.” Then he grinned. “Sixty years time, though, I’m claimin’ you for Team Tanaka, okay, Sawamura.”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Tanaka-san, and yeah, one day I’ll be back, but you’ve got to beat me first.”

Accepting a kiss from Suga, and blushing an even deeper red, Tanaka slunk away, but they could hear him yelling, “Azumane-san, you’re needed to ferry a couple back to Earth.”

“Azumane?” Daichi queried. “Are they good?”

“It’ll be a gentle ride back,” Iwaizumi supplied. “He’s kind of wild looking, but has a soft heart. You’ll get back in one piece.”

“As long as you don’t look back,” Oikawa cautioned.

“Do you think the Chief means that?” Iwaizumi said. “I thought it was just a bit of gamesmanship.”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Oikawa said, “Kei-chan can be a lazy git at times. There’s a whole ream of laws that need updating, but he never gets around to it.” Inhaling a large breath, he reached out his hand to the boy. “Okay, Tobio-chan, this is where you have to say goodbye to Suga-san.”

“No.” His face crumpled, bewildered and he wrenched away from Oikawa, to cling to Suga’s legs.

“Temporarily,” Suga soothed, and dropped to the floor. “You need to go on ahead with Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san. They’re going to look after you. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he whispered, giving him another hug.

They watched the three of them leave, Iwaizumi smoothing his palm across the table surface, tutting a little as he adjusted, finally pronouncing himself satisfied. “Come on, Tobio,” he called and held out his arms. “Tooru, you going first?”

“I shall.” He beamed wide, lavishing another kiss on Suga’s lips, and then one on Daichi’s cheek. “We’ll wait for you. Hurry back.”

And then they were gone. Tobio giving a small wave over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, face solemn. Daichi linked his arm around Suga’s holding him so close they could have been one being, holding him as if he would never let him go.

It was a matter of minutes before their boatman appeared. Tall and imposing looking, with long hair straggling to his shoulders, and a goatee beard, Daichi’s immediate impression was that the wrong one had been sent, for he’d been told Azumane was a gentle soul. But as he approached and the light hit his face, the boatman flinched, stepping back a pace before recovering to face them. 

He gave a low bow. “My boat awaits. I will take you to the other shore, and guide you to the path,” he murmured, his voice low and dolorous. “Please follow me.”

“It’s Asahi-san, isn’t it?” Suga asked, sounding tentative.

He slowed in his tracks, twisting around to cast Suga a look from over his shoulder. “You remember me?”

“You were in the Infirmary when I first arrived, weren’t you?”

“I assist there sometimes,” Asahi agreed.

“I was thirsty and you brought me a drink,” Suga continued. “And I was crying ... you sat with me for while until I slept.” He swallowed and stepped closer to Asahi, letting his hand slip from Daichi’s grasp, as he touched the boatman on his shoulder.“Thank you.”

Asahi smiled, a little sadly, his eyes taking in Suga before drifting to Daichi. “I didn’t think you’d remember – not everyone does.”

“You made me feel less terrified,” Suga replied. “How could I forget you?”

“And this is Daichi, yes? You kept saying his name.”

“It is,” Suga said and giggling he twirled back to Daichi. “He’s won my release. We’re going home.”

“I’m happy for you,” Asahi murmured. He turned away, quickening his pace, leaving Daichi and Suga watching.

“Cheerful chap,” Daichi muttered.

“Hush, he’ll hear you,” Suga whispered, soft punching his arm. “I owe him a lot. He was very kind when I thought I’d lost everything.” He sped up, tugging Daichi with him. “Asahi-san!”

“I apologise if I’m going too fast, but I presume you’d like to be out of here as soon as possible.”

“Ah, yes, yes we would, I just thought we could chat, you know.”

“Why?” Daichi mouthed.

“Because he’s kind, and don’t you get the feeling he’s lonely?” Suga murmured. “Is that all right, Asahi-san?”

He turned again, and this time the smile was wry. “I have a feeling, Sugawara-san, that there’s something you want to ask me. Go ahead.”

“Uh... yes, you’re right. Um, why did you assume I’d forget you?”

“There was a draught in the drink I gave you,” Asahi replied and stared at his hands. “It’s to ease your passage into the Underworld.”

“To forget?”

“A little,” Asahi mumbled. “The first few days can be difficult.”

“You mean forget about his life?” Daichi demanded.

Asahi took a baby step backwards, hunching into his robe and blinked rapidly. “Uh... it’s ... uh ... to help. A-a-and it ... uh ... it’s not permanent. Memories return these days. It’s not like the old times when the Lethian draught was ... stronger. S-s-sugawara wouldn’t have forgotten his life, but ... uh ...” He began to breathe deeply as Daichi approached.

“You’re scaring him,” Suga said, pulling on Daichi’s arm. “It’s all right. I remembered you. I remembered everything.”

“But what, Azumane?” Daichi persisted. “You said Suga wouldn’t have forgotten his life.

“It’s a f-filter,” he stuttered. “Nostalgia but no regrets.”  He sighed. “In the old days, it was oblivion, but Ukai-san wants this to be a happier place, especially when the Queen is here. He thinks memories and knowledge contribute to that.”

He began to walk again, taking them towards a tunnel hewn through rock. As they stepped in, Daichi could hear the sound of water, a stream tricking towards the heavier roar of a river, and the drip-drop of moisture from the cave roof.

“Watch your step,” Asahi warned. “The boat is close by, but the stones are slippery.”

It was not a motor boat like Shimizu’s had been. Azumane was the skipper of a rowing boat. Leading them on, he gestured to the back where the wooden seat had been made a little more comfortable with addition of one thin cushion and a rug. He sat in the middle facing the pair of them and when they were settled, he grasped two long oars and began to row.

“Keep your hands inside the boat,” he cautioned. “The source of the forgetfulness potion is also this river’s source. Diluted, but ... uh ...”

“I get it!” Daichi replied and placed one arm around Suga’s shoulders, keeping the other firmly by his side.

Under closer observation, Azumane was an older man, a little grizzled and careworn around the edges. He had strong arms, and long legs, and the boat sped across the water smooth and silent, with only the sound of the river echoing through the cave. That he was clearly powerfully built, and had presence wasn’t in question, but his air of melancholy affected Daichi more acutely than that of Yachi, who had at least smiled and been satisfied with her work.

“Are you happy here?” he blurted out.

He gave them both a smile, continuing to row and steering them past ridge of rocks in the centre of the river. “I like the solitude,” he told them. “I like being useful.”

“And before you died?”

Suga elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “That’s rude!”

But Asahi, far from looking offended, laughed. “Don’t hurt him, Sugawara – not now you’ve got him back. And I don’t mind answering.” He rowed a bit further, navigating the rocks, before stopping and letting the boat drift. “I was a soldier, Sawamura,” he said and rested his hands on his knees. “I died of battle wounds. There was regret, but in the end it was a release.”

Closing his eyes, Asahi said nothing for a while, but just as Daichi was kicking himself for probing too deeply, the boatman picked up the oars again and began to row.

“Battlefields are noisy,” he said. “And I was a soldier for a very long time. Some days, I can still hear guns and smell the buckshot. And the blood.” Shuddering his left oar scudded across the surface, but he calmed himself with a steadying breath. “I yearned for peace; I have it now.”

He rowed further, keeping silent, but instead of the atmosphere becoming solemn and grey, Azumane’s story had instead shed colour around them. Suga lent his head on Daichi’s shoulder, his hair tickling his neck, and a hand reaching across to entwine with Daichi’s fingers.

“We’re coming to the bank,” Asahi called. “There’s a tunnel to walk through. It’s narrow and there are brambles straggling part way, but it’s fairly short and you should find your way back soon.” He stopped rowing, letting the boat bump to the shore then stood up, holding out his hand to Suga. “Once you enter the tunnel, Sawamura, you must not look back. Not one glimpse until you’re in natural daylight.”

“Mmm, Ukai-san mentioned it. Keep my eyes firmly on the destination, and not on the prize,” he joked, joining Suga on the bank and giving his arm a squeeze

Asahi held Daichi’s gaze, his large brown eyes sorrowful, as if he knew the story ending but couldn’t tell. “Good luck,” he replied.

 

They watched him go, arms around each other, and when Asahi had disappeared from view and all they could hear was the steady rush of the river, Daichi dropped a kiss on Suga’s temple. “Ready?”

Nodding, Suga took Daichi’s hand. “Lead on.”

 

Asahi hadn’t been exaggerating in his description of the tunnel. At first glance they missed it, the entrance was far narrower that Daichi had envisioned – a cranny in the rock rather than a cave mouth – and not high either, so both would have to stoop. But there were brambles growing through the crevice, which snagged at Daichi’s ankle when he walked past. 

“Here,” he murmured, and taking a moment to breathe, to steady the sudden thump in his chest, he paused before stepping forward. “Suga, I need to clear it first.”

“I’ll help.”

“No.” He stopped him with his arm, barricading the way, his eyes firmly ahead. “I have to lead, and once any part of me has passed that entrance, then I can’t risk you being anywhere but behind.”

Suga gave him a last kiss on the lips, then slunk back, his fingers trailing down Daichi’s arm, finally ceasing the contact. As he stepped closer to the tunnel entrance, Daichi knelt on the ground, took off his hoodie to wrap around his hands, and pulled them apart.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, seeing a path ahead. “The thorn bush must be a cover. I’m going in.”

“I’m right here,” Suga replied. “Shall we hold hands? I could keep one step behind you.”

“It’s too narrow.” Daichi half turned his head, remembered just in time, and jerked away. “And you’re too tempting. Stay well back. We’ll keep talking, yeah?”

He had to stoop to stop his head scraping the tunnel roof, and he had to manoeuvre his shoulders past the rock walls, receiving scrapes and scratches each side.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Suga replied, a little further back. “You’re broader than me, and I can wriggle through. Oh!”

“What!”

“Am I allowed to look back? I didn’t ask.”

“No idea. Maybe don’t,” Daichi said, relief hissing out of him. “Let’s just carry on. Azumane said it wasn’t far, and the others will be waiting.”

“Mmm, I hope Tobio’s all right,” Suga said, fretting. “He wasn’t happy about leaving without me.”

“He’ll be fine,” Daichi said, adding cheer to his voice to keep their spirits up.  Not that he was unhappy, but the air in the tunnel was hot and close, adding to the sense of claustrophobia already cloaking him. Tying the hoodie around his waist, he pulled his shirt out of his waistband, flapping it to get some air.  “Are you okay, Suga?”

“Me? I’m fine. Better than fine,” Suga assured him. And his tone was light as feathers, heady with the promise of escape and life. _“We’re diamonds in the sky!”_

Allowing himself a smile as the image of Suga dancing and his very real thirst for life pirouetted through his mind, Daichi relaxed.

“Tanaka liked you,” Suga said.

“Liked you more,” Daichi replied. “No one wanted you to leave. Yacchan, too.”

“Ah, she’s so sweet.” He huffed a little. “It’s getting hotter.”

More branches and thorns grew out of the wall, the thorns tearing at his arms, but Daichi wouldn’t risk turning sideways to avoid their grasp. He hunched in, crossing one arm over his chest, and forced the other forward to clear the way.

“Ouch.”

“Suga?”

“My foot. I’m okay. Go on.”

“No, I’ll wait. What’s wrong?”

“Thorns.  I don’t have shoes on.”

“Want mine?”  He tried to pull them off with his hands, but such was lack of space constricting his movements, he couldn’t manage. “I’ll toe them off.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Hoodie then,” he said, unwinding it from his waist. “Lay it on the floor in front of you.”

Suga giggled. “So gallant. You remind me of that man.”

“Which man?”

“Um, I don’t know but he took off his cloak so a queen could walk in a puddle,” Suga said, still laughing. “I don’t know why she couldn’t walk around it.”

“Or stayed inside,” Daichi added.

“Or worn proper shoes.”

“Wellies.”

“Galoshes!”

“Waders!”

“Flippers!”

Laughing, Daichi stepped forwards. The air might be hot, the atmosphere stifling and the brambles flaying at his skin, but he and Suga were making small talk and ridiculous jokes as they found their freedom.

“Listen,” Suga panted. He leant forwards, grabbing Daichi’s shirt. “Can you hear that?”

There was a bubbling sound, clear but faint. Holding his breath, Daichi strained to hear, then gasped. “Water?”

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it? There must be a spring somewhere.”

“Which means we’re near the surface!” Daichi beamed. “We nearly back, Suga.”

Although it was dark, his eyes had become accustomed to the lack of light and although he couldn’t turn, he could feel Suga’s warmth behind him, and the hand at his waist, was prodding him forward as excited as he that this would soon all be over.

“Am I imagining it, or is the air fresher?” Suga asked, breathlessly.

Daichi wasn’t sure. He inhaled a lungful, but the air was still hot in his mouth, and dry on his lungs. There was a husk in his throat and his lips were dry, as if he’d slept with his mouth open, or eaten too many dry biscuits.

But if Suga could sense fresh air, then maybe there was something different here. He groped in front of him, feeling his way in case there was something he’d missed, some point of ventilation. And there was... there was a draft, a breeze floating towards him, enveloping him.

“We’re close,” he croaked, and began to cough as the dryness clung to his throat. There was a sound too, the bubbling spring must have been nearby because he could hear it flowing, hear the faint pitter-patter of raindrops splattering to the rocks.  “Really close, Suga. Hold on.”

“Don’t look back, Daichi. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, so please trust me.”

And then he saw the light. Grey autumn sunshine filtering through a crack in the ceiling. He leapt forward, not minding the claustrophobia or the crush of the walls on his arms. He took longer strides, yelling for Suga. “He said daylight. I’m here!”

“Not enough,” Suga called, not far behind. “Don’t turn. Not yet.”

“I won’t. The path twists a bit. There’s a corner and then a smaller chamber, but it’s all lit now. We’re nearly done, Suga!”

Water echoed around them, not the roar of the river, or even the bubbling spring, but as Daichi stumbled forwards, searching for the freedom, sprays of white and silver danced around him, dropping like a curtain from the roof of the chamber.

“A waterfall!”  Suga whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, but I can’t wait to never see it again,” Daichi called back. “Can you see the light on the other side?  The water’s sparking with it. Come on!”

He set out. Three strides should do it, launching himself at the waterfall. “Hope you don’t mind getting wet, Suga!” he yelled as he plunged towards it.

“DAICHI!”

“Huh?”

“Keep your mouth closed!”

“What?”

He blinked.

There was something on his lips. It was cool. It felt good. His lips were dry and his throat too. It was –

“Don’t open your mouth. The water could be from the source. You mustn’t drink it!”

_Who’s saying that?_

He shook his head; droplets of water flew through the air.

_Why am I getting wet?_

“DAICHI!”

“What!” he snapped, turning.

He’d been looking forward, and now he was looking back. There was a man there. A man with silver hair, wide brown eyes, and skin as pearlescent as moonlight. 

“Oh, Daichi,” the man was saying. “Daichi, what have you done? The water. The water.”

The man ran towards him, stretching out his hand. On some strange instinct, Daichi reached out for him, and away from the waterfall. His mouth had dried again, the respite from the few drops over far too soon.

“Suga?”

Suga’s hand was in his, clammy and cold.

“It was the source of the river,” he said, his voice some blurring wisp smothered by the crash of the water. “You forgot.”

“No... no... NO!” he screamed, and clung, clung hard to the cold hands in his, desperate to wrench Suga into the light. But it was late, too late, Suga’s hands were slipping. They felt thin and lifeless, his skin translucent like tissue paper, and his eyes dulling. He slid backwards, his mouth open.

“NOOOO!” Cold ice plunged into him, stabbing at his chest and sending the shards splintering into his heart, sharper and more painful than anything he’d bourn, as he watched Suga fade into swirls of white light filtering to grey.

“I love you,” his voice arced towards him, light as the breeze, soft as feathers.

And Daichi searched, plundering towards the tunnel. ‘SUGA! SUGA, SUUUUGAAAAA!’

He screamed and screamed. Screamed even though his voice was hoarse and the words were like knives in his larynx. Screamed until sobs wracked his body.

But there was no one there. As he ran, the walls of the tunnel squeezed onto him, the rocks refusing to let him in, to give up their secrets for a mere mortal.

The waterfall continued to flow.

The breeze flowed around him, and through the opening ahead, he saw pale autumn sunshine breaking through the mundane clouds.

The diamond had gone. Only rough earth remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small explanation: Thanatos is the Greek personification of Death and has a twin brother called Hypnos who is Sleep. But there are some depictions of them as the same person.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. i left the energy of sun rays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooooooooo - can this ever be made right? Daichi, what have you done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ashamed to say that I cried re-reading this chapter. Sorry (not sorry)

He existed and looked for signs.

 

From his bed, he could hear her singing. Practise, he guessed, because she kept stopping, trying out an inflection in a different way, rather than belting out the notes and finishing the song. 

It sounded good. Haunting. As it should.

He turned over, picked up his pillow and stuffed it over his head.

Some time later, when he was still pretending to be asleep, there was a tap at the door. He thought about not answering, but she’d probably barge in anyway, so he murmured for her to come in.

“Hey, Daichi,” Yui said, her voice soft. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thanks.”

“Eat it while it’s hot,” she said, placing it on his bedside table.  Then with a sigh, she picked up the breakfast bowl and the congealing cereal. “You have to eat, Daichi.”

“I will.” He levered himself up against the headboard and attempted a smile. He winced.

“Jaw still hurting, huh?”

He touched it gingerly, mollified to feel the pain was just a twinge now the swelling had receded.

“Still think you should have reported him. I don’t care how famous he is, Oikawa Tooru should not get away with attacking you.”

A flash of fists and a furious pummelling. It had been over as quickly as it had begun, with Iwaizumi dragging Oikawa off him. Daichi had lain on the ground, arms by his side not even protecting his face.

Sometimes he wished Iwaizumi had not been there. Or that Kyoutani had shaken free of Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s shackling hold, and gone for his throat.

_It would be better than this,_ he sometimes thought.

 

But other times, although the grey and black converged around him, he thought of diamonds and how though they were small they’d shine bright.

In his more positive moments, the thought that Suga would kill him if he submitted got him through the day. But then again, he’d already be dead, so what did it matter?

Tobio had been waiting, his hand in Iwaizumi’s, and he’d seen the hope leech from his face until his eyes screamed blankness.

 

“There was a phone call,” Yui said, not moving from the bed. “An agent.”

“Ah, good. I’m glad. You guys deserve it.”

“For you, silly,” she murmured and leaning across she made to ruffle his hair, but thought better of it, and traced the side of his face instead with her fingertips.

“Why?”

“He came to our last gig,” Yui explained. “Loved our sound, but loved the songs more. He wants to meet the writer.”

“I’m not interested. Take the song, take any of the ones I’ve written and use them however you want. Sell the rights, I don’t care. Just ...”

The smell of the soup reached his nose. He turned away from it, not wanting to see the steam rise from it, swirling in the air, before disappearing.

“Daichi, we’re not taking money that should be yours. And I’m not going to let anyone cash in on your talent,” she said firmly. “Now sit up _properly_ , and have some soup, or do you want me to feed you?”

Pushing the spoon to the edge of the bowl, he lifted it to his mouth. It tasted good, hearty and warming, just what was needed on a rainy October day. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“So are you going to call this guy?”

He shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“So what do I tell Tendou-san, then? ‘Cause he’s coming to the club later, and he’ll want to know. He’s very persistent.”

Daichi’s spoon fell out of his hand, clattering into the bowl.

“Hey, you’re splattering me, you goof ball!”

“Who?”

“Huh?”

“Who’s the agent? What’s his name?”

“Tendou Satori. He’s a regular at Hat and Cane. I’ve seen him with Oikawa a few times. Not that I talk to either of them. Oikawa can take his basket of fruit and apologies and stick them where the sun don’t shine after assaulting you like that. Really you should have-”

“Reported him,” he finished for her and shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. But tell me about Tendou.”

“Uh... sure...” Her face lit up as she began to talk, explaining how he’d approached them three days before. “He wants to represent us, too, but it was clear he was more interested in the original songs.”

Later, Yui told him it was the first sign of life she’d seen in him since the two weeks he’d landed back at her apartment. So she’d stayed talking, watching him finish his soup and the roll she’d brought him as he listened intently. And she’d not shown any surprise when thus fortified, he got out of bed declaring he was going out.

_Tendou,_ Daichi thought. _The guy who was interested in Suga. This can’t be a coincidence._

Were the gods working in his favour?

 

 Tendou Satori was a tall man probably in his mid-thirties. With dark red hair, styled wildly upwards, a cluster of earrings in one ear, and eyebrows that arched so high, Daichi wondered if the wind had changed direction and he’d been ‘struck like that’, he ushered Daichi into his office with a bounding enthusiasm more akin to a toddler facing a bowl of ice cream.

“So you’re the guy, huh?” Tendou said. “The guy that writes the beautiful songs.” He perused him, scrunching up his nose. “You don’t look how I imagined.”

“In what way?” Daichi asked, refusing the offer of coffee from a hovering PA.

“Well, for a start I thought that cute singer was the writer. Once she put me right, I guess I expected someone a little more ... uh ...” He gnawed at lower lip. “You kinda look as if you’d be happier workin out in a gym than playin’ a guitar.”

“Does it matter what I look like?”

“Image is important, Sawamura. Don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise.” He leant back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk, revealing not just new shoes, but ones he’d forgotten to take the label off the sole.

For a moment, Daichi thought he heard a giggle, his mouth twitched upwards, and turned his head to the side to ward off the nudge to his ribs.

_No._

“If you say so,” he said instead, straightfaced and dull.

“So, you got any other songs inside o’ ya?”

None, he wanted to say. But the truth was he had too many. They were pouring out of him, waking him in the night, lyrics and melodies flew from his fingers, weaved into his brain and bubbled up, despite the severest attempts he made to stifle them.

 Songs as relentless as the rain pelting down on the city every day, smattering his windows until the reality outside was a blur.

He hadn’t cried; songs were his tears.

“Same sorta thing?”

“Love and loss and nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Numbness,” Daichi replied. “Wanting to feel, but knowing you can’t. I had ... Sorry, I can send you details, but  Michimiya’s been practising, and I think The Crows will use the new ones soon if you need to listen first.”

“If you don’t mind me askin’, Sawamura, you ain’t exactly sellin’ yourself, here. Like most musicians woulda brought along a guitar, or a portfolio, but you’ve just turned up – not even in a suit – and now you’re telling me to go and listen to the band. You coulda told me this on the phone. Like are you even after representation?”

“Suga,” Daichi blurted out, adding when Tendou’s eyebrows crashed back down into a confused frown. “Sugawara Koushi.”

“Feh, I got it. What about him?”

“You knew him.”

“Another kid I wanted to represent,” Tendou said. Removing his feet from the desk, he reached into a drawer pulling out a brown paper bag. He proffered it to Daichi. “Sherbet lemon?”

He waved them away. “You wanted to represent him?”

“Mmm, I thought I could get him separate gigs away from Oikawa. Even had the idea he could front a band. Cute looking kid like that, he woulda reeled in the fans. Shame.”

“What is?” Daichi leaned in.

“I ran into Oikawa only last week at the club, and he said ...” he trailed off, his hand inside the bag stopped moving.

His face was white, the freckles across the bridge of his nose the only colour left. “He said Koushi had gone.”

Gone. Not dead. Was there a chance?

Was Saeko still fighting for him?

Was that why he’d felt compelled to come here?

Tendou pushed the sweets to one side, taking a gulp of his coffee instead. “But I got talking to Hanamaki – you know the guy? --”  Daichi nodded, “-and he told me otherwise. Suga’s dead, at least that’s what he heard. That explosion, you remember it?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew him, right?”

Cold rippled through him, and it struck him clearly then that whatever he’d known, whatever he’d seen, it wasn’t until that moment - and Tendou’s assertion – that Suga’s death was real. He’d seen him die twice, but that first time had been tempered with utter belief that the situation was retrievable. The voice in his head, the pictures in his mind had urged him on, led him to the club and Iwaizumi, the Underworld and Saeko before finally seeing Suga again.

But now it was silent. Everything was quiet and the only sound in his head was his own regret and pain.

“You were the guy, huh?” Tendou asked, his voice gruff. The same question, but said quite differently from the brash cheery enquiry about his song-writing status.

“Pardon?”

“Last month, when I was tryin’ to sign him, I only ever got through to Oikawa. He said Koushi had other things on his mind. ‘Course, I just thought that was Oikawa stalling, but afterwards Makki gave me the gen. Said Suga had been in love and that kinda made it extra sad in his opinion.” He was in the middle of a shrug, then froze. “Life’s life whether you’re in love or not is my opinion, but ... uh ... I’m sorry for the pair o’ ya.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t bother to deny, and didn’t look up either. Hot tears pricked the back of his eyes, blurring his eyesight, but clearing the vision in his mind.

Suga dancing. Suga smiling. Suga as bright as a shooting star, fading into inky darkness.

“I need to go,” Daichi muttered. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Hold on,” Tendou was out of his seat and at the door before Daichi could get there. “Why did ya come if not to make a deal?”

“No reason.”

“There’s always a reason, Sawamura.” He clapped his hand on Daichi’s shoulder, steering him back to the chair, while he sat on the edge of the desk. “Look, you’ve got talent. Your songs are gonna be big whether ya like it or not, ‘cause that girl is singing them at every gig they land. And when that happens, then other people – far less scrupulous than me – will be after ya.”

“So?”

“So if you want anonymity for a while, then I understand that. You keep writin’, Sawamura, and I’ll see what I can sell.” He paused, and then placed his hand under Daichi’s chin, tilting his face up and staring down at him, his face expressionless. “You can donate the money, do some good with it, just don’t let a shark rip you off, all right?”

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, defeated. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tendou released him, giving him a grim sort of smile, saying he’d show him out. They walked along the corridor in silence, the only sound the faint scuff of Tendou’s shoes on the thick carpet.

“Oh, one thing,” Tendou said when they reached the reception area. “Can you give Michimiya and the Crows a message for me?”

“Sure.”

He was back to business, making deals while Daichi was numb.

“Winter Solstice bash in December. The host would like to hire them. Can ya let her know?”

“Sure.”

“It’s a big deal,” Tendou continued. “They’ll make a lot of dough, and you’ll get a cut.”

He was living the dream, but it was the dream of seven months before, and not what he wanted now.

_Could ya give it up, Sawa-chan?_   Saeko had asked him.

In a heartbeat.

_I’d have flipped burgers for the rest of my life if only Suga was alive._

***

 

Autumn dragged.

Daichi returned to the burger bar, keeping his head down and taking what shifts he could. In his free time, he wrote. Words appeared not just as love songs, but ones with fantastical themes.  The tunes buzzed around his head, and he spent his waking moments trying to capture them in his guitar and on paper. No sooner had he finished, Yui snatched each song away, getting Ennoshita to transpose and Narita to tweak to suit their sound. They had a stream of bookings now. The City’s latest thing, and no one questioned their meteoric rise.

But Daichi knew. He’d struck a bargain, and the gods had seen fit to punish his arrogance by granting his long ago dream.

 

He was working in the kitchen when they walked in. Normally he wouldn’t look up, but there was something about the tap of their feet that caught his ears, and he glanced sideways, letting the burgers fry for a few more seconds before flipping then over.

“Yo, Sawamura!” It was Matsukawa who spoke and Hanamaki who raised his hand.

Daichi dropped his spatula on the hot plate, cursing under his breath. “What are you doing here?” he called out, on the look out for the manager, who did not approve of any distractions.

“Had a real urge for junk food,” Hanamaki said. “Will you join us?”

“Uh, it’s mid shift, I can’t,” he started to say, but the manager had appeared and was already ushering Daichi out of the kitchen and past the counter, telling him he could have a break.

“How did you do that?” Daichi asked. “We don’t get breaks, at least not out here with the customers.”

“With a waggle of my eyebrows,” Matsukawa replied. He sounded flippant, but Daichi was sure he was actually being honest.

Biting into their burgers, they chewed for a while, leaving Daichi to sip at a cup of hot coffee.

“How are you?” Matsukawa asked after he’d chewed and swallowed his way through half his burger.

“Alive,” Daichi replied, amending to, “Existing, I guess.”

“Tendou tells us you’re making money.”

Of course, they knew him. Everyone knew everyone in this place.

“Some.”

“So why are you still here?”

“I’m hardly a millionaire,” Daichi replied. “And I’m too young to sleep my day away after nights partying.”

“I get the feeling the man disapproves, Issei,” Hanamaki said, smirking.

“Me too.” Matsukawa pressed his lips together, peering across at Daichi from the top of his chip carton. “It’s not you working, Sawamura, but where you work. This stuff’s okay, but you cooked kinda well. Couldn’t you get a job elsewhere?”

“This suits me,” Daichi replied. “I don’t have to think.”

“The Club could use you,” Hanamaki said.

“I can’t go there.”

“Tooru would like to see you, you know?” Hanamaki continued. “He’s ... uh ...”

“He misses Koushi,” Matsukawa supplied when Hanamaki drifted off. “We all do, but ... uh ... not with the same intensity. Hajime’s hiding it, but he’s not coping well, either. They pour their energies into the three homeless kids, but there’s a Sugawara sized hole in their plans.”

“They’re immortal. Can’t they get to see him?”

“Don’t think they haven’t tried, but a deal is a deal, and they have no rights down there.”

“Shimizu-san tells us that Suga’s shut himself away and won’t speak to them anyway.”

“Why?”

“Guess he knows this is it and doesn’t want reminders of the past.”

“Of me.” He thought of Asahi and the draught he’d spoken of taking away the regret.

Had Ukai known Asahi would tell them about the river? Had he hoped Suga would drink and forget his longing to live? Or did he want me to fail, to punish my arrogance in taking the fight to him?

More thoughts crowded his brains. Questions on eternal repeat. Unanswerable.

Had Suga drunk the water already? Had he decided he had to forget everything? Was that the way to deal with the pain? Another kind of death for those already dead.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “Tell Oikawa and Iwaizumi I’m sorry and I always will be.”

He should have gone back to the kitchen, but instead he ran.

 

He was pounding the pavements. It started to rain, but despite his lack of jacket, he didn’t stop for shelter, slipping and splashing through puddles. The dust of the city was mud at his heels that he couldn’t kick off, but he sped on, not slowing even though his lungs were fit to burst. 

Across roads, chicaning through cars, dodging pedestrians, he swerved away from the noise and the smoke and the thrum of fraying tempers all around him. The grey clouds were blackening. A storm not just on the horizon, but about to pounce, the rain pelting down to form rivulets around his feet, soaking his clothes until he was wet to the bones. Until his legs shrieked with pain.

Daichi slowed to a halt, and lifted his head to the heavens, opening his mouth to lap at the rain, because maybe, maybe, _maybe_ this was the sign, and if he drank enough then oblivion would follow.

But everything, every pain in his body and heart, remained with startling clarity.

He started to walk, trudging towards anywhere that wasn’t here, and as the thunder roared around him, and the lightning illuminated the way ahead, he followed an uphill path.

It dawned on him slowly where he was. And he didn’t know how he’d got here, because this had been the one place he’d never wanted to see again, but perhaps the route had been circuitous.

The picket fence and gate had gone. A garden wall, one that could easily be sat on or hopped over surrounded the dwelling. The front garden was different, too – a straight path heading towards the house... which wasn’t a house anymore.

There was nothing left of the place it had been, but Daichi knew, he _knew_ , he was right.

Oikawa Tooru now lived in a castle. Not a house that was an approximation of a castle, but one with an actual moat, a drawbridge and a portcullis gate locking out all intruders.

Except the drawbridge was down, the gate was raised and there were no knights on the parapets threatening to shoot him down with arrows.

_I’m here now. Perhaps this is where I’m meant to be._

He shinned off the wall and headed down the steps.

It was as he approached the drawbridge, his foot on the first plank, that the boy appeared, yelling something over his shoulder as he bombed out of the castle.  Daichi blanched, wondering in that instant whether to turn away because his presence here could only cause pain. But just as he was debating, the boy came to a sudden halt and stared at him.

“Sawamura-san,” he muttered.

“Tobio-chan,” he replied, looking down at him. “How are you?”

“Where’s Suga-san?” he demanded, ignoring the question and looking behind Daichi. “Is he with you?”

He shook his head, but nothing would dislodge the lump forming in his throat.  “Sorry.”

“He said he’d follow me.”  Tobio kept his eyes on the ground, scuffing his shoes in the mud. “He lied.”

“No, he didn’t.  Suga would never have done that to you, Tobio. He wanted to follow, and we were so very close, but ... he got trapped.”

“Iwaizumi-san’s sad,” he mumbled. “And Oikawa-san.” He swallowed and then, despite the rain and the mud squelching under foot, he flopped onto the ground, bending his knees to his chest. “They don’t want me here.”

“Doubt that’s true,” Daichi muttered. He wondered whether to reach out, to ruffle the kid’s hair, or smooth away some of the rain streaking his face, but Tobio face was shuttered, closed down, bleak, and Daichi didn’t want to push him further away.

“I liked Suga-san,” he gulped.

What would Suga do? Daichi wondered. And the answer came back to him before he’d finished the thought.  He joined Tobio on the ground, not crouching but sitting in the mud.  “Yeah, so did I.”

The rain continued, thunder rumbling overhead, but Tobio didn’t seem scared, or as if he’d noticed, so caught up with his own brooding, his brows knitting into one as he frowned.

“Pretty neat living in a castle,” Daichi said, then winced at using the word ‘neat’ – did kids say that? At all.

“I guess.” Tobio didn’t physically shrug; it was there in his voice.

“And what do you do there? Suga-” he covered up the crack in his voice with a cough “- Suga-san said you were a good dancer. Oikawa-san’s excellent. And Matsukawa and Hanamaki – they’re amazing. Do you dance much now?”

“Yes.” His lips were tight.

“With Akira and ... uh ... Yuuta...?” he asked, scrabbling for the name.

“Yuutarou,” Tobio said. “Yes.” His scowl deepened.

_Ah._

“Must be good having friends your age,” Daichi fished.

“Not friends.” He hugged his legs closer, resting his chin on his knees, and finally flicked his attention Daichi’s way. “We were in the same care home, that’s all.”

“Tough break, huh?”

This time he did shrug – it seemed to relax him – and Daichi offered him a smile, all the while thinking with a heavy heart how Suga would probably have picked the boy up by now and twirled him in the air. 

“Oikawa-san, Oikawa-san, Kageyama’s here!” shouted a boy, jerking them both out of their contemplation of each other. 

Tobio’s scowl deepened until Daichi could barely see his eyes. Getting to his feet, Daichi offered him his hand, and heaved him up to standing. “They’ll take good care of you here,” he said, then sighed. “I better go.”

“Kageyama!” Oikawa hands on his hips, strode towards them, even through the mud and rain, he had a certain style and sashaying walk that would be beyond Daichi even if he trained for a year as a catwalk model. “Where have you been?”

And then he faltered. His eyes which had been narrowed, widened, and he dropped his hands to his sides.

“Sawamura?”

“Yeah... Hello.”

“You’re here?” Breaking into a run (a squelchy run) Oikawa passed the messy haired boy (Yuutarou, Daichi presumed) and a smile hovered on his lips. “You have news?” he asked eagerly.

He didn’t have to ask news of what. Shaking his head, Daichi placed his hand on Tobio’s shoulder, edging him forwards. “Is there likely to be any?” he asked, trying to quell the hope in his voice.

“No. I wondered, that’s all. Iwa-chan said -” Oikawa sniffed, then turned his gaze on Tobio. “You need a hot bath before dinner. Go inside with Yuutarou, will you please, Tobio-chan?”

Looking mutinous, his head down, Tobio slumped away. He didn’t wait for Yuutarou, but slopped towards the castle, stopping outside the large arched door before turning back to give Daichi a small wave.

Some of the ice in his heart cracked. A small fissure, as if a pulse of heat had hit a weak spot. Daichi swallowed and waved back.

“You can come in if you’d like,” Oikawa said, after watching the exchange. “I’d ... uh ... like to talk.”

“Is there anything to say?” Daichi replied, but he took a step forwards anyway.

“I need to apologise.”

“You did. I got the fruit.”

“Not really. Iwa-chan ordered me to and Mattsun bought the fruit. But we’ve talked now, and I know I was wrong to blame you.” He took a breath, and then gave Daichi a smile. “Iwa-chan told me you’d heard voices, which was why you wanted to save Koushi.”

“Yeah. It was Saeko,” Daichi replied. “She led me to the garden where I met him.”

“The rose garden?” Oikawa’s raised eyebrows belied the certainty in his voice. “He lied about that, didn’t he?”

Daichi nodded. “It was the garden next door. Sorry, would that have made a difference?”

“Perhaps. It’s not as if it would have changed anything, but realising Saeko-neesan was watching over him might have led to me to trusting and then confiding in you.”

“And that night could have been prevented,” he guessed.

“Postponed. Death doesn’t like to lose,” Oikawa said dryly.

They stood in silence, letting the rain patter over them, and Daichi didn’t need to be a mind reader to know where Oikawa’s thoughts were.

“At least he knew,” Oikawa said at last.

“Knew what?”

“What it was to be in love,” he smiled, a little sadly it was true, but a smile all the same. “I don’t just mean with you, Sawamura, but with life – dancing and laughing, taking delight in everything around him. And that smile...” Oikawa closed his eyes and sighed. “Pure sunshine. I can see it now and suddenly it’s not raining anymore.”

Lightning flashed and almost immediately, a clap of thunder rent the air. With a rueful laugh, Oikawa held out his hand and twined his fingers into Daichi’s. “I may be a god, but I can’t control the weather. Would you like to come inside?  Iwa-chan’s your size, so you can borrow some dry clothes and wait for the storm to abate.”

He agreed, wondering if what he needed right then was someone who’d been close to Suga, someone who’d loved him, and whose soul (if Oikawa had a soul – he was a god, so maybe they didn’t) was torn asunder by his ‘death’.

“You’ve redecorated,” he quipped as they crossed through the doorway and into a large hall with stone walls covered in bright heraldic banners, and two suits of armour flanking a fireplace housing a roaring fire.

“Akira’s ideas,” Oikawa remarked. “Although I added the suits of armour, and I hung some portraits on the upper landing. It’s also fully centrally heated, and the plumbing is modern. Akira’s knowledge of medieval castles consisted of knights and horses and a large table for banquets.”

“You created this for him?” He tried to tone down the scepticism, but he saw Oikawa’s lips twitch, and remembered belatedly that they guy could probably read his mind.

“I created this _because_ of him,” Oikawa explained. “From his dreams and picture books, just as the last house was –”

“Suga’s childhood story house,” Daichi said. “Sunflowers and a thatched roof.  I remember thinking it was unreal, and I expected the birds to come and eat crumbs from his hand.”

“Ha, they probably would have done if Kenta hadn’t been there,” mused Oikawa, leading him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom and fetch some clothes.”

 

He stayed but not for dinner. Tobio seemed to accept his presence, even showing him his room. Unlike the rest of the castle it was starkly modern, clothes hung up, shoes in a rack, the only possessions a stack of magazines piled with precision. A canvas – not quite blank – waiting for a daub of colour, a flame to lend its warmth, or a spark to cast some light.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa had spoken of their sadness, but it wasn’t evident as Oikawa corralled the three boys into the kitchen to eat, and laughing at their relieved faces when he said it was Iwaizumi-san who’d cooked, and all he was doing was heating it up.

There was nothing of Suga there. Oikawa, for all his words, had moved on – he was a god after all and immortal, so life would always be transitory, Daichi guessed – finding pleasure in nostalgia.

No regrets. A filter. Maybe that’s how he got through eternal life and losing so many.

 

“Sure you won’t stay?” Oikawa asked when Daichi made his apologies and the rather lame excuse of having to work. “Ah, well, don’t be a stranger.”

_But that’s what I am,_ Daichi thought. _I always was. There’s nothing here for me._

 

But at the door, just as he was about to step into the dusk, he heard tentative soft steps behind him.

He didn’t turn around.

Just in case.

A small hand touched his, one finger on his wrist knuckle.

“Bye,” muttered Tobio.

_I could offer him milkshake, tell him to come into the diner any time, or promise I’ll come back. But is that for me, or for him? Maybe it’s better he forgets – even though I know I can’t._

“Bye, Tobio,” he whispered. “Take care, okay?”

 

***

A stormy autumn led into early, thick snow, and for Daichi more time cooped up inside. He still had his job, and figured Matsukawa must have said (or done) something to the manager because his absence that day wasn’t remarked upon. He didn’t need the money. There was a continuous trickle these days: Tendou selling songs, The Crows ensuring he took a share of their takings, but it was as much to get him out of the house as anything.

_The thought that a kid might turn up uninvited for a milkshake barely crossed his mind._

On the coldest day of the year, where breath ghosted the air, icicles hung from lampposts and windows and the pavements were packed tight with ice and trodden snow, Daichi trudged into work (it was quicker to walk as the buses were grinding to a halt on the roads) to find it closed. The boiler had broken, and with no heat, light or any means of cooking, the manager shooed him away, promising to call when he reopened.

“ _If_ I reopen, eh?” he said, shaking his head. “Not seen weather like this for decades. Even if I can get a repairman out, no one’s leaving their homes to eat out, not when they can freeze on the way back.”

Still hearing the old man’s mutterings as he turned away to plod down the street, Daichi stuck his hands in his pockets, wishing his gloves were thicker. He curled them into fists, huddled himself into his scarf and coat, and tried not to think of warm days in the park.

Yui was home when he got back. He heard her talking in their sitting room, and paused, wondering whether to announce he was back and slope off to his bedroom, or offer coffee to whoever their guest was.

Before he could decide, she sped through the door, heading to the kitchen, mobile in her hand.

“Kazu, I don’t _know_ what we’re going to do, but I will sort it out.”

...

“You stay there.”

...

“Let me know as soon as you hear.”

...

“It’s called optimism!”

...

She appeared from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand, and then stopped in her tracks.

“Kazu, I’ll get back to you,” Yui said. “Promise. And if he’s staying in, then let me know and I’ll visit.”

With surprising decisiveness because Yui’s usual demeanour was one of flap and fluster, she switched off her phone, then span to face Daichi.

“What are you doing back so early?”

“Boiler’s bust. Owner’s closed the diner down,” Daichi replied, unwinding his scarf. “If you need space, I’ll  stay in my room.”

“Not at all,” she said, and took a step towards him, and then backtracked in the direction of the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s freezing out there.”

“Shot of brandy in it?”

“Micchan, it’s barely ten.”

“I could make you breakfast, then,” she offered. “Something to warm you up.”

“You’re being nice,” he stated, squinting across at her. “What are you after?”

“So suspicious!” She twisted around, carefully studied horror on her face. Then she let out a breath, the force of it flipping her fringe off her forehead.  “All right, I need a favour.”

“Go ahead.”

“I will totally understand if you say no, though.”

“Micchan,” he repeated, “go ahead.”

“That was Kazu on the phone.”

“Yeah, I heard. What’s up?”

“Chikara’s in hospital.”

“Shit, what’s happened. Do you want a lift?  I’ll come with you, just let me find my keys. Of course I’ll help -”

Jeez, Chikara, he’d only seen him two days ago when he’d dropped by to run past the new arrangement for one of his songs.

“He’s fine!” Yui interrupted. “Well, except for the fact that he slipped on the ice when the three of them were having a snowball fight and he’s now at the hospital waiting for an X ray on his wrist.”

“He’s broken it?”

“Possibly. Might just be a sprain. Could be ligaments. Either way we’re screwed.”

“What for?”

“Winter Solstice, Dai-chan,” she said plaintively staring at him with wide open eyes. “It’s three days time, and without Chikara-”

“You want me to play?” He considered, and seeing the surprise on her face, the thought briefly crossed his mind that a few months before, he’d have outright refused.

“You know the songs,” she implored. “You’re the logical choice.”

“Mmm.” He frowned a little. Why was she looking so unsure, when he’d practically agreed? “I’ll do it,” he said, trying out a grin to reassure her.

“It’s at the Mansion!” she blurted out. Her mouth drooped. “I know that’s going to be difficult for you, so please, I’m not going to mind if you say no.”

_The Mansion._

It had been four months since he’d first seen Suga. The summer air rich with music and the scent of life, he’d spied him spinning towards Oikawa.

“It will hurt too much,” Yui was saying, and placed her hand on his arm. “It’s fine, we can find someone else.”

His world had stopped, and then ricocheted off onto another tangent, that had led him inexorably to this moment in time.

“It’s too soon, I know,” she whispered.

Another lifetime.

He wound his arms around her, and Yui rested her head against his chest. “It must still hurt so much,” she whispered. “I can’t ask this of you.”

“It does,” he replied, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s always going to hurt, just as I know it will always be too soon. But, Micchan, everywhere, everything reminds me of Suga, and maybe ...”

He took a deep breath, then another, steeling himself for what he would say, because once he did there was no going back.

And he knew it wasn’t a sign – he’d stopped believing in them since visiting Oikawa and finding all traces of Suga were gone – but something inside of him was squirming with apprehension and a little excitement.

“Suga was happy there,” he told Yui. “And I was, too. So, if you want me to play, I will.”

Her hands tightened around him as she gave half a sob. “I love you, Sawamura.”

“You’re only saying that,” he muttered, hoping she couldn’t hear the crack in his voice, “because I fake dated you to get Itori off your back.”

“Rubbish,” she said, sniffing. “I fake dated you to get Hani out of your hair.”

And as she sobbed her thanks, Daichi didn’t know who was clinging harder.

***

The last time he’d been here, Daichi had appeared from the jaws of Hell landing on the bank of the river opposite the boathouse. Oikawa had been waiting, along with the others, and landed several punches before Iwaizumi had intervened. The Mansion had been closed up, desolate and solitary against a grey skyline.

As they approached, Hisashi driving their small van up the main path before swerving round to a side path, Daichi noticed the blinds were up, windows open, and an air of business about the place as people scurried in and out of the house.

A line of people carrying clothes piled out of a car, the woman in the lead rapping out orders to her unfortunate underlings.

“Is there a theme?” he asked.

“Nothing specific,” Kazu replied. “Winter dress, that was all.”

“I’m not wearing fur,” Yui insisted. “I don’t mind bundling up in a scarf and gloves though, especially if they keep the windows open for much longer.” She peered gloomily out of the windscreen.  “Still snowing – I thought we’d get some respite. We’re going to freeze.”

He hadn’t asked. The most fundamental question as soon as he’d found out where the gig was and it hadn’t even entered his head until this moment.

“Who’s hosting this?”

It was winter; Saeko would be in the Underworld.

“No real idea,” Hisashi said, pulling up. “We’ve been paid though.”

“It’s a community thing,” Yui added. “No one actually knows, although a lot of people suspect it’s Oikawa-san.”

“Is he going to be here?”

“Not sure. Oikawa’s not danced for a while. Mattsun and Makki were ‘unavailable’ apparently, though I saw them at the Hat and Cane last night,” Yui replied, “and they didn’t mention another gig.”

“Maybe they’ll get here after midnight,” Daichi muttered, and refused to elaborate.

The stage had been set up already, and as they’d sent most of their gear ahead, it was only the guitars and mikes that needed unloading. After sound checks and one final run through of the songs Daichi wasn’t as au fait with, he risked taking a break and wandered through the French doors.

Cupid was gone. The statue replaced with a brass Medusa, which should have been a fountain, but had collected icicles instead.

He wondered if staring at it long enough would turn him to stone, but the only metamorphoses was his toes and fingers starting to freeze. That and the feeling he was already stone inside.

I should be feeling something. Sadness, regret, loss. Anything.

But he was numb, frozen into winter.

“They say her victims retained their last emotions, so make yours happy ones, Sawa-chan.”

There was an inevitability about it all, and as he turned around to face the speaker, Daichi wasn’t at all surprised to see not only Oikawa, but Iwaizumi as well.

They were dressed the same, long black coats and grey trousers, the only difference being Oikawa’s pale blue scarf wound loose around his neck. He stood a little in front of Iwaizumi, hands encased in black leather gloves crossed in front of him. He might not have been wearing a coronet of gold, but he was still as haughty and commanding as that first time Daichi had seen him.

“Are you the host?” he asked.

“Not me,” Oikawa replied. “That has always been a secret.”

“So you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

“Correct, but I’m really not.”

Iwaizumi stepped closer, black leather Italian shoes making a deep impression in the snow. “How are you, Sawamura?”

“Existing,” he said – his standard reply. He heaved in a breath of the cold air, filling his lungs so tight they hurt. “I’m keeping busy.”

“So we’ve heard,” Oikawa replied. “Shigeru-chan tells me the club is extra full when the Crows play, and your songs are the ones they demand as encores.”

“How are the boys?” Daichi asked.

They all silently acknowledged the change of subject with barely a beat.

“Lively!” Oikawa said and laughed. “The castle has been moderated. Yuutarou-chan used to dream of spaceships, which has been the most wonderful challenge. It doesn’t get off the ground, of course, but he’s excited by the bridge and sliding doors. Aki-chan grumbled at first, but he’s taken to it now.”

“And Tobio. Does he like it too?”

Silence. Iwaizumi winced. “Kind of hard to tell.  His room’s the same. He dances, though, and practises a lot.”

“He bugs me a lot to teach him new things all the time,” Oikawa put in, stifling his irritation with a wide smile.

“He’s good?”

“Very!” Iwaizumi said, a split second before Oikawa’s shrug and ‘I suppose so’ comment.

“Don’t mind him,” Iwaizumi said. “He’s sensitive about mortals being better than him, but he won’t turn Tobio into a spider, or even a Lucifer dogfish.”

“What?”

“Iwa-chan! That was one time, and I turned him back.”

“You’ve turned Tobio into a ... WHAT?” Daichi yelled. “What the fuck, Oikawa. Who the fuck do you think you are!” He launched himself forward, grabbing Oikawa by his coat lapels. And he would have thumped him, but Iwaizumi linked his arms under Daichi’s and hauled him off.

“It was a different kid. And Oikawa’s not allowed to do that anymore,” Iwaizumi told him. He pulled him further away, setting some space between Daichi and Oikawa, slowly releasing him and brushing down his jacket. “He might make an exception if you really provoke him, though. Or is that what you’re counting on – a smiting thunderbolt sending you straight to Hell.”

“I’m not,” Daichi mumbled.

Oikawa remained where he was, as unruffled by Daichi’s actions as the accusation.

“Sorry,” Daichi said.

“Nice to see you’re not completely emotionless,” Oikawa replied. “Be careful, Sawa-chan, you might actually feel something.”

He didn’t ask him to elaborate. He couldn’t even feel shame at Oikawa’s accusation because who was he to tell Daichi how to deal with loss, with grief, with the side of him frozen by guilt.

“Is this a regular thing for you now?” asked Iwaizumi. “Will you be performing at the Hat and Cane?”

He shook his head. “One night only. I’m standing in for Ennoshita and that’s all.”

“Then back to the burger bar?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Trying to skew your success by staying there won’t bring him back, Sawa-chan,” Oikawa murmured. “You could make it big – you certainly have the talent.”

“Yeah, well, it’s come at a price I would never have paid,” he mumbled, then hunched his shoulders. “Michimiya’s going to panic if I don’t get back inside.”

“She was wrapped around the caterer when we saw her,” Oikawa said dryly, and plucked the sleeve of Daichi’s bomber jacket. “What would Koushi think if he saw you now, Sawamura?”

“What do you mean?”

“He used to talk non-stop about you, you know? Very irritating,” Oikawa replied, brushing his hands across the snow collected on Medusa’s snaky head. 

_Did he?_   Daichi wanted to say, but stayed silent. What good did it do knowing how Suga felt. He knew he’d loved him. And Suga had known he was loved in return. Retreading old ground only trampled the snow into a compacted space – far harder to thaw.

“He said you laughed. He said you smiled a lot. You made him laugh too, and he’d come back from seeing you alight with joy. It was like he was aflame from within, giggling and smiling and desperate to dance, to spin, to warm all of us around him, to -”

“I GET IT!” Daichi yelled, and clasped his hands over his ears. “DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW!”

“To love. To love you,” Iwaizumi finished quietly.

“I know, I know, I know,” Daichi whispered, “but he’s gone and I ... I hate it.”

“Then remember him,” Oikawa said. “Fill your world with all your memories together. Not just the songs you write, but everything in your life. _Honour_ him, Sawamura. That’s all you can do.”

And it was Oikawa that reached out, pressing his gloved hand to Daichi’s chin, tilting it up so he could stare into his eyes. The gesture was reminiscent of their time in the Underworld - Oikawa testing to see where Daichi’s loyalties lay – but there was no venom, just a warmth spreading through him, and nearly touching his heart.

“It hurts so much being without him, knowing I’m responsible,” Daichi whispered.

“It’s better than it not hurting at all,” Oikawa replied. “Frozen means you can never move on, and Koushi dies over and over if you won’t let him live.”

 

***

 

“You guys are amazing!” Yui yelled to the audience. She smiled widely, showing her teeth and crinkling her eyes as she twirled on the stage. “And I want to thank you – again – for being so kind to our replacement for Chikara.” Someone groaned. “Yeah, we know you miss him. Chikara’s got quite the fanbase, but having the FUCKING GENIUS THAT WROTE THE SONGS FILLING IN!”  Her eyes were huge as she punched the air. “That’s gotta count for something, right!”

And to Daichi’s surprise, the applause increased, the cheering could have raised the roof, and Hisashi’s continued drumbeat as Yui sang his praises, threatened to cause an earth tremor.

He strummed his guitar, adding a flashy flick of his fingers, then catching Oikawa’s eyes at the back of the ballroom, he began to smile.

“The next song’s one you love,” Yui continued. “I know that because every time I sing it at the Hat and Cane Club -” she paused and gave a slow wink and half-smile in Oikawa’s direction, “- I’m getting some advertising in so they’ll pay us more.  Anyway, every time we play this song, you lot go wild!”

She was gearing up for it, just as Daichi knew she would, giving him time to adjust because she knew, she knew, she knew, who he’d written this for and what this would take out of him.

He’d asked that they drop this from the set, and Yui had agreed – they’d all agreed – but walking back into the Mansion, seeing Yui in Hana’s arms, not making out, but getting held, Daichi had seen faint sunshine sparking through the window.

He’d gasped for breath.

“Play the song,” he’d said.

 

She was on stage, and suddenly coughing, hand over mouth. “Sorry, guys, maybe my voice isn’t up to this tonight. Winter chill, ‘n all that.”

“Nooooo!” yelled the crowd.

“But there’s another singer,” she rasped. “Someone else here who could do it.” She laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not Hisashi!”

“Hey!” he shouted, but grinned not at all upset.

And Daichi wanted to say ‘No’, he wanted to flee the place right away because he _knew_ what she was asking, but then ...

_Another voice. Another time._

_‘Sing.’_

“This is Diamonds,” Yui said, pulling Daichi further forwards, “and this is the amazing songwriter behind it, and now as I -” She coughed effusively into the crook of her elbow, “- can’t manage another note. How about we let Sawamura have a go?  Is that okay?  I can’t hear you!” she shrieked, no sign of a bad throat as the partygoers roared their approval. “Song’s all yours, Daichi!”

He inhaled as he adjusted the microphone suddenly plonked in front of him. It was one song. A song that would always mean far too much. A song of triumph but ultimate failure, and if he could bleach it from his mind he would. Wouldn’t he?

_Honour him, Sawamura._

He strummed the first chord. The audience yelled, then fell to silence in anticipation.

_‘Shine bright like a diamond.’_

And he didn’t care that half way though, as he hit ‘moonshine and molly’ tears not only prickled his eyes but leaked down his cheeks. The heat burned through him, flaming his face, as he watched Oikawa link his hand into Iwaizumi’s.

The cold solid core of his heart began to drip.

Drip.

_‘When you hold me, I'm alive  
We're like diamonds in the sky.’_

Drip.

Yui placed her hand on his shoulder, hovering over the microphone. “I’m here,” she whispered.

Iwaizumi held Oikawa close, the light from the stars illuminating them through the window. Daichi continued to sing, encouraged not just by her support, or Kazu’s, or Hisashi’s soft feathering on the drums, but by the memory of a starlight smile brighter than any diamond.

It was as he was singing the last few lines, the strains of the melody wafting over the audience that something incontrovertibly changed. It wasn’t the audience. Oikawa and Iwaizumi hadn’t moved, and Yui was still standing alongside. The music played on, the audience swaying as they sang along, already hoping for an encore.

It was a breeze through the windows.

Warmer air.

And then a cry.

“It’s stopped snowing!”

A flash of light at the back of the room.

Silver?

No, gold.

But his heart didn’t quite plummet. Didn’t quite refreeze as he watched a movement so slight no one else could see. Gold dust in the air. And then a figure emerging.

‘You sang’, the figure seemed to say.

_I did,_ he thought, giving her a nod.

Because it was _her_. It was Saeko.

Dressed in black, dripping with diamonds, and a shimmer of a red sequinned stole across her shoulders, she carved a path through the audience with a swish of her hips and the air of ownership.

The song was over, but she hadn’t gone. Yui, not understanding, acted on instinct, grabbing the mike and accepting Daichi’s guitar as she gabbled yet another apology then geed up the crowd by promising more music. They launched into something else, a song Daichi wasn’t needed for, and he schlepped off the stage, taking Saeko’s outstretched hand.

“Why are you here?” he asked, feeling as if he’d missed a trick or three. “Isn’t it winter?”

“Perhaps I wanted to hear you sing, Sawa-chan,” she murmured. “Perhaps I needed a break from the darkness. Or wanted to liven things up in the world.”

She laughed and taking his hand, she led him through the French windows. “The newspapers will be full of this tomorrow. Record hot temperatures for December during the coldest winter for decades. The scientists will be baffled for years.”

“Why are you here?” he repeated.

It was cold, and yet ... not freezing anymore. Icicles dripped, the snow disappearing even as he watched.

“Don’t slip,” she warned. “I can’t stop this thaw while I’m here.”

And then she stopped walking, and her hand which had been light in his, tightened as she pulled him close. Yui was singing again, music filtering out to them, the encore of Diamonds in another voice and with different passion.

He didn’t care. It was over. He was done. Unfrozen – like mush on the ground muddied by the thawed ground.

Through the window, he could see Oikawa still in Iwaizumi’s arms, both holding each other tight, and shaking, shaking, shaking, as they wept.

“Why are you here?” he beseeched.

Saeko said nothing, but pressed her lips to his, then turned him around, pushing him away with her fingertips. “There’s a pathway,” she began. “You took it once, four months ago. Try taking it again.”

“Suga?”

She didn’t reply, except with the softest of smiles, and he had left her grasp before the possibility of words had left her mouth. He bounded down the side alley, not caring that the brambles scratched his ankles, or the snow was soaking through his trousers. And when he reached the gate, he didn’t bother unlatching it but kicked and shoulder barged his way through the wooden door, praying, hoping desiring the impossible.

He would not be there. He could not be there. It was a dumb fucking stupid hope. Gods and goddesses toying with his feelings to satisfy some lust within them.

“SUGA!” he yelled. “Suga, are you here?”

A sliver of silver. Faint white light, blurring into nothingness. Perhaps this is all he was. This was all Daichi would be treated to. Maybe one glimpse.

And he’d trade everything for that, he knew as much.

“Suga,” he whispered.

Silver glimmered from the temple. He stepped closer.

“Suga?”

And then he emerged in a pale, rough hewn tunic, and white trousers. Thin and pale, paler than he’d ever been alive, Suga slipped in front of one of the pillars, and stared out into the space between them.

“Are you real?” His voice as fragile as porcelain.

“I’m real,” Daichi replied.

“I’m so cold,” Suga whispered, glancing around as if surprised to see the snow and the pond iced over. “What’s happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daichi said, and his voice husked, catching on every syllable. “Suga, it’s me. You’re home.”

“I’m cold.” Suga took a breath. “Hold me?”

In an instant Daichi took him in his arms, bounding from the gate to the temple, he held him so tight, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, his back, his sides, to shake the cold out of him. “You’re here. You’re really here?”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “I don’t know why, but -”

“I sulked, that’s why!” Saeko chimed cheerily from the gateway. “And you weren’t exactly the ball of sunshine Hell was hopin’ you’d be, Suga-chan.”

She didn’t move, except for kicking the gate shut behind her to face them both. “Brought everyone down, and once I could see you weren’t settlin’ in, I kinda helped things along.”

“What?”

“Stormiest autumn in memory? Coldest December since records began? Who d’you think was responsible?” She shuddered. “I went deeper underground, Sawamura, as far away from mortals as possible. And the gods weren’t happy at all.”

“You did this all for us?”

She shrugged. “Most Mortals need a second chance. Sometimes they need a third or a forth. Life can be fucking shit, and we all need some sunshine.” She smiled, a little soppily, then scowled. “That and the fucking waterfall really wasn’t fair! I let Keishin have it, I can tell ya, when I found out.”

Another smile.

“I have to go before this snow melts and the city’s flooded. So ... uh ... take care, the pair of you. And I don’t want to see either of ya down _there_ for at least seventy years, all right!”

She left, a wisp on the breeze, gold light haloing around the space where her body had been. Daichi pictured her appearing through the mirrored table, a lascivious grin on her face as she faced her husband and Ushijima, defying the Chief, defying Death once more.

But he remembered Ushijima speaking as Sleep, not Death, and Ukai wiping away a tear when he’d heard the song, and he knew then that Hell wasn’t such a bad place to be. Iwaizumi had been right about his preconceptions – he’d had them in spades - but they were muddled and muddied now by everything he’d seen.

“Oikawa’s through there,” he told Suga, kissing his cheek, and nuzzling his neck, his hand ruffling his hair, not quite convinced he was real. “And Iwaizumi. I left the pair of them crying, so they’re going to be overjoyed to see you. And tomorrow you can see Tobio. He’s a dancer, just like you said he’d be and –” His voice broke, the thin husk finally splintering.

“Hush,” Suga murmured, and graced Daichi’s lips with his fingers. “I’ll see them soon, but ... for now ...” His arms wound round Daichi’s neck.

And then they crushed their mouths together. Fire meeting ice, as Daichi pried Suga’s lips apart, burning at the chill. He cupped Suga’s face, feeling the frost on his skin turning clammy. A plucked lily petal, beautiful but lifeless, and not the bloom of the summer rose.

Not yet.

Suga pulled away, gulping for air. “I closed myself away,” he said, shivering in Daichi’s arms, his voice a gossamer thread. “I was so desperate not to feel. I wouldn’t talk, couldn’t dance, I wanted to die. Ironic, right, the one thing that couldn’t happen because I was already dead. And the worst was, although I knew how to get out, I couldn’t. The entrance to the surface was closed to me.”

“You’re alive now,” Daichi said, holding him closer, and desperate to warm the frozen limbs, he tried to inch Suga towards the Mansion.

But Suga wouldn’t move, resting his head on Daichi’s chest and his hand on his heart, his breathing became easier, less laboured. “I decided to settle for forgetfulness. I persuaded Asahi-san to row me across the river, and I found the source. I was about to step into that waterfall, to bathe in it, to drown myself in oblivion ...”

“But you didn’t?”

He shook his head. “There was a crack in the rocks, I heard thunder, and then I saw a pinprick of lightning refracted through the water.” He sighed again, and then at last, he began to move his feet, cautious steps. “For a moment I thought I heard you roar, and it filled me with such happiness that I knew I couldn’t let the memories go, however painful.”

And at last a smile wreathed across his face. “It was a waterfall of diamonds, Daichi,” he breathed, leaning further into Daichi as they continued to walk, his mouth moving against Daichi’s neck, soft and now heart-stoppingly warm. “Shining bright – like us – and forever dancing in the sky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have said that this is a Northern Hemisphere story - ha ha. I toyed with the idea of not mentioning any months, but it got complicated. Apologies to any Southern Hemispherites reading this. 
> 
> There's a weeny Epilogue, and then that's it.


	8. Epilogue: Diamonds in the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue that was written because just as I'd decided it was all complete after seven chapters, this little voice piped up - 'what about me?' so I needed some closure for them.

It was March and the time where the day and night vied amicably for equal shares of the world. The sun was citrine as it filtered through the trees. Blossoms almost in bud, hoping a frost-laden wind wouldn’t shake them too soon, waved their hellos to a new season.

The grounds were empty, grass underfoot damp, but not frozen. The heavy snows of autumn and winter a distant memory. Up at the house, music filtered out across the estate. One last date before a tour, Yui was making sure The Crows left the City on a high, playing to their largest crowd to herald the Spring.

They still played his songs, and Daichi was _still_ writing new ones. The initial fervid fury had slowed, but any sign of the success drying up with Suga’s return, hadn’t loomed on the horizon.

 

_(“_ Maybe they think our suffering was enough,” Oikawa said, flicking his hair off his face. “Or perhaps Ukai-san was never a fan and thought you’d sink without any help from him.”

“I reckon Saeko called him out over the waterfall. Shamed him into changing the deal,” Matsukawa opined.

“Whatever it is, Sawamura, I wouldn’t press the issue. Keep enjoying it, while it lasts,” said Hanamaki, and laughed. “And if it all goes sour, you can become the cook at the Hat and Cane.”)

 

 “I can see the boat,” Suga said, nudging Daichi softly.

“Right.” 

They walked on towards the river, both hearing the steady chug chug chug of an engine.

The ripples reached the bank long before she did, but her presence lent authenticity to the event. In a stem-green suit, the very essence of spring, the substance of ‘her’ lit the pale sunshine a deeper yellow, and Daichi could have sworn the blossom began to bloom before his eyes.

“A landing party,” Saeko declared, “Well, ain’t this pretty?”

Both Daichi and Suga bowed to her, and if either noticed the red eyes of the Queen before them as she disembarked, neither mentioned it.

“We wanted to welcome you,” Daichi explained. “And thank you. We didn’t have the chance before.”

“You’re welcome,” she chimed. “So neither of you is hankering to join my bro and husband, huh?” She laughed, a touch sadly Daichi thought. “You don’t have to answer that. Ryuu says ‘hi’ by the way, and Asahi-chan wishes you well.”

“He’s okay, is he?” Suga asked. The breeze was ruffling his hair, silver strands falling on ashen cheeks, worry etched in his voice.

She considered. “He’s different. Less ... uh ... unsure and closed off. I think knowin’ he helped you has kinda released him. He has other memories to soothe him, Suga-chan. It looks like you touched him, even if ya didn’t mean to.”

As she stepped onto the bank, accepting Daichi’s hand, a smaller figure in a khaki canvas tunic and beige trousers emerged from the cabin, lugging a case.

Which she dropped on her foot as soon as she caught sight of the two on the shore.

“Sugawara-san!” Yachi breathed. “You’re here... Uh ... please say you’re not coming back so soon? I’m not allowed to ferry anyone back on my own.”

“You didn’t miss me then, Yacchan?” he said and laughed.

“Um ... no ... just ... um ... I don’t think down ‘there’ is the right place for you. Not yet, anyway.”

“I think we’re all agreed on that,” Saeko said, and cupping Suga’s face in her hands, she stared at him for a long time, assessing and solemn. “Eyes like stars, cheeks like blossom, hair as bright as a moonbeam, and a smile warm as sunshine. It’s good to see you’ve shaken off _every_ vestige of Death, Suga-chan.”

Releasing him, she stepped away and towards the house – her house – the house of gods, or renewal, hope, death and rebirth.  “I need to get those windows open. Is Tooru-chan inside?”

“He is,” Suga assured her. “He’s decorating, or rather he’s ordering the others what to paint and yelling for Hajime when they start fighting.”

“Oh great. I better see what he’s decided on, so I can change it if necessary.” She turned and blew Yachi a kiss. “See ya in September, short stuff, if not before. This could be a really short summer, but ... uh ...  take care of my boys, will ya?”

And if she was crying as she walked away, no one remarked upon it.

“I should go,” Yachi sighed. “It’s good to see you, Sugawara-san, and you, Sawamura-san.”

“Even though we caused you all so much trouble?” Daichi asked. He sat on the jetty, not caring that the wood was cold and damp, Suga joining him a moment after.

“Hmm, sometimes it’s worth it,” Yachi muttered, and chewed a tendril of her hair. “Seeing both of you happy is great. I’m gonna tell all the guys below. They’ll be glad, but ... um ... I really do have to go. Careful you don’t touch the boat, or you’ll be making that journey again.”

“Can’t you stay a while?” Daichi asked, hoping to hold her there a little longer. But she was already preparing to start the engine, her mind intent on leaving.

 

(“She won’t want to stay,” Iwaizumi warned him. “It reminds her of what she’s lost.”

“So can’t you save her?” Daichi asked again.

“She’s made a choice, and as I said once, you can’t save everyone. Yachi’s happy enough, but there’s nostalgia and regret occasionally.”)

 

“Yacchan,” Suga said, and reaching over, he touched her arm. “We have something for you. It was Daichi’s idea.”

“Huh?”

Reaching into his rucksack, Daichi produced a plastic tub, and a spoon. He grinned and held it out to her, watching as her face switched from gloomy acceptance to giggling delight.

“Ice cream,” she whooped, and her eyes danced. “I haven’t had this for so very long.” Ripping off the lid, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “So yummy. Do you want some?”

“No, no, it’s all yours,” Daichi said. And we’ll bring you more, every Spring, every Autumn, just for you.”

She looked like a child again, a girl giggling and full of life, not dragged down by circumstances, the circles under her eyes disappearing as she smiled. Leaning towards them, keeping her feet on the boat, she hugged Suga tight before turning to Daichi.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

“It’s just ice-cream,” he mumbled, blushing at the tears in her eyes.

“You remembered.” She sniffed. “It’s nice to know I’m not forgotten. That’s what we all want, right?”

Pushing away from them, she set the engine running, the ice cream tub on her lap. They heard her laughter, and watched as she dipped in her finger and licked greedily.  And then she was gone, speeding round the corner until all that was left was the boat’s wake rippling towards them.

“We should see if Tooru wants any help,” Suga said at last. “Who knows what Tobio’s done to his decor?”

 “Used Yuutarou as a paint brush, probably,” Daichi snorted.

“At least they’re all getting on. Tobio might even smile.”

Dropping a kiss on Suga’s temple, Daichi whispered, “He has a good teacher.”

He slowed his pace, lifting his head to catch the strains of The Crows latest song ... his latest song. Chikara adding his voice to Yui’s, perfect in their harmonies.

 “Are you regretting not going with them?” Suga asked and slipped his hand into Daichi’s.

It was slight, but warm, despite Suga’s refusal to wear gloves. Daichi squeezed back. “Not at all.”

“Only you still could. I can wait for you. I could even visit, or become a groupie following you all over the world.”

 “I like it here,” Daichi murmured. “And it’s going to be even better when we have the apartment to ourselves.”

“But it’s your music they’re playing.”

“And it means nothing without you,” Daichi replied. “You’re my muse, Suga. My inspiration.” He stopped him, turning him around so they faced each other, and feeling the flame in his cheeks. “My diamond in the sky.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has started this story and read to the end. It means a lot to me, not just that you've decided the story is worth completing, but because I tried something a little different in the opening chapter, and I hope that sense of other worldness continued through the rest of the story, despite me adding very recognisable characters from Haikyuu.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is complete, with seven chapters and an epilogue. I'll post a chapter a day.


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